


stronger than diamonds, worth more than gold

by orphan_account



Category: Happy Days
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bisexual Male Character, Coming Out, Gay Male Character, Gen, M/M, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-09-24 19:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fonzie only came to Reno for a quickie divorce. He never intended to like his landlord’s family this much - especially not college student son Richie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fusion fic based on the novel Desert of the Heart and its movie adaptation Desert Hearts.
> 
> Title is a lyric from the Clyde McPhatter song “Treasure of Love.”
> 
> Reposted after being accidentally deleted. First eight chapters were originally posted from June to August of 2019.

It was almost ten when Richie got back from his night class, and there was nothing he was looking forward to more than going inside and throwing himself onto his bed. He probably wouldn’t even change, he’d just collapse over his covers.

He reached for his keys, and found that his pocket was empty.

Exhaustion gave way to panic as he mentally retraced his steps. He’d gotten up, gotten dressed, gone downstairs for breakfast, remembered he needed his history textbook for tonight’s class, gone back to his room, saw that he was running late, and ran off with just enough time to kiss his mother on the cheek. In all that, he’d forgotten his keys in his room.

So he knew where his house keys were. Now he just needed a way to get back inside.

With no other real options, Richie decided to try jimmying the lock until the door opened. Joanie had done it once, somehow, so Richie knew it was at the very least possible. He gripped the doorknob with both hands and began to vigorously shake it.

He stopped to catch his breath and leaned against the wall. From behind, someone exhaled in a way that was almost a laugh.

Richie’s eyes shot open. Someone else was there.

And they’d seen him try to shake a locked door open.

Richie pushed himself off the wall and slowly turned around, hands raised over his head to show he wasn’t going to try anything.

“I’m not a burglar, I swear,” Richie said.

Whoever was there stepped out of the shadows. He was completely unfamiliar to Richie, a dark-haired, leather-clad stranger. He was an inch or two shorter than Richie, not that Richie noticed at first. It was something about the way he carried himself; he had this sort of easy confidence that made Richie feel towered over. He was wearing a black leather jacket - why he was wearing it when it was almost summer in Nevada, Richie had no idea. Maybe he rode a bike - leather was safety gear, right? Or maybe he just wore it to look good. (It did look good on him.)

He didn’t say anything, he just kept looking at Richie.

“I live here,” Richie continued, because he didn’t know what else to do. “I’m Richie, Richie Cunningham -“

The guy raised his hand in a “stop” motion, and Richie stopped talking.

He gestured for Richie to move with a nod of his head, and Richie, confused but tired enough to just go along with it, stepped off the doorstep. The guy took Richie’s place at the door and eyed the lock for a moment.

“Paperclip.”

Richie didn’t react at first. He was half convinced he’d imagined that, because “Paperclip” was a weird thing to say to someone out of nowhere. Then the guy looked at him again and said “You got a paperclip?”

“Oh. I think so.” He rummaged through his pockets, first his jacket, then his pants. His face got warmer as he looked, keenly aware of the eyes on him, and he desperately hoped he wasn’t blushing - or that if he was, it wasn’t that visible in the dark.

He finally managed to pull one out and placed it in the guy’s open palm (and if his fingertips brushed against the guy’s hand, it was an accident. Really).

The guy straightened out the paperclip, turned around, and slid it into the lock.

With a surprising amount of precision, he began to work the lock open.

Richie leaned closer, trying to get a better look at what he was doing, until his chin was practically resting on the guy’s shoulder. He stopped what he was doing and looked at Richie. “Ayyyy. Watch the leather.”

Richie stepped back, face rapidly getting hotter. “Sorry.”

The guy went back to work. Within a minute, there was a small click from the door.

The guy stood up and tossed the straightened paperclip at Richie, who managed to catch it after almost dropping it.

He nodded at the door as he stepped back down. Richie got the gist of it and got back on the doorstep. He gripped the cool metal of the doorknob and turned. To his immense relief, the door opened.

Richie laughed and nearly collapsed. He had enough presence of mind to step back before he turned around to thank the stranger, who had already begun to walk away. Richie ran up next to him.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you. How’d you learn to do that?” He laughed. “Sorry. That’s probably none of my business.”

The guy’s eyebrows raised by a fraction. Richie took that as a “yes, it is none of your business.”

Time to change the subject. “Are you staying nearby?”

“Over your garage.”

“You’re the new tenant?” Richie asked. He hadn’t seen a wedding ring on his hand when he was picking the lock. Maybe he’d already stopped wearing it. Most of the tenants kept wearing their rings until their six weeks were up, and they could claim state residency and get their divorce and leave Reno. But a few tenants stopped wearing their rings earlier on, as some sort of statement of freedom that always struck Richie as a little premature.

It didn’t strike him as such as much in this case. Maybe it was because of this guy’s age - when Marion had mentioned a new tenant would be coming by, Richie hadn’t expected him to be almost as young as he was - the guy was a two or three years older than him at most. He couldn’t have been married very long.

“My mom mentioned you’d be coming by,” Richie said. “Arthur, right?”

The guy’s mouth twitched. “Fonzie.”

“Fonzie,” Richie repeated. “I - I really owe you for this. Thank you so much.”

“You gonna go inside, or was all that for nothin’?”

“Yeah, I’m going in,” Richie said. “It’s just - this isn’t the first time I’ve locked myself out,” he admitted, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Joanie’s probably never going to let me hear the end of this when she finds out. Joanie’s my sister,” he added.

“We’ve met,” Fonzie said. “She doesn’t have to find out, y’know.”

Richie glanced back at the door before his gaze returned to Fonzie again. “And...you won’t...?”

Fonzie shrugged. “Far as I’m concerned, this never happened.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah. This never happened.” He grinned as he spoke, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“That’s - that’s really great of you.”

Fonzie nodded in agreement. Neither of them spoke for several moments, until Fonzie said “You goin’ inside or what?”

Richie laughed. “Night, Fonzie.”

He turned around and went inside, and if he kept looking over his shoulder, back at Fonzie as he walked away, well, no one had to know.

—

It was early when Fonzie woke up. He’d been an early riser all his life, mostly because he had to be. Even now, when he had nowhere to be and no real plans, he found himself awake right as the sun was rising, sending light through the yellow curtained window that was almost blinding.

His eyes adjusted within seconds, and Fonzie got out of bed and dressed as fast as he could. The room was wholesome and homey in a way that activated his fight or flight response, and since there wasn’t anyone around to fight, Fonzie figured he was better off just getting out.

He checked his reflection in the old mirror on the wall, made sure his hair was still perfect, and dusted off his jacket. No sand had gotten on it now, but it was better safe than sorry out here. Reno was more or less surrounded by desert, and even in the city everything was surrounded by dry warmth. It was enough to make Fonzie miss Milwaukee and its early snows. At least there he could wear his jacket without every square in a train station giving him condescending looks.

Fonzie would get used to the heat in a day or two. He’d gotten used to worse, and he wasn’t giving up his jacket when he’d feel even less like himself without it.

Fonzie had left his bike back in Milwaukee, but he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to. (He hadn’t really wanted to get divorced either - it felt too much like saying he’d been wrong to marry Maureen in the first place - but Maureen had stood firm.) He’d thought about driving out to Reno alone, just him and his bike and the open road. But it probably couldn’t have handled the distance to Reno and back, and it would have taken longer than Fonzie or Maureen needed right now. The point was to get divorced as quick and painless as possible, so Fonzie took the train. His motorcycle stayed behind in Milwaukee under Rocky Barufi’s protection. Nobody was going to mess with the Fonz’s bike, and by extension the Fonz, even when he was out of town, but Fonzie wasn’t going to take any risks when it came to this.

The train ride had gone pretty well, too. First day he met a woman on the way, a leggy blonde traveling out from Wisconsin to visit family in Nebraska. She’d begged Fonzie to come visit her when he came back to Milwaukee a free man. Fonzie had kissed her a promise of better things to come, then watched as she’d gotten off the train smiling dazedly.

Fonzie knew exactly what he was going to do in six weeks. Now he just had to get through them.  
When Fonzie went down the stairs into the driveway, Mrs. Cunningham was already there, carrying a garbage bag almost as big as she was.

Her eyes lit up when she spotted Fonzie, and then she was smiling warmly. In a motherly way, sort of. It was the same look of recognition she’d gotten when Fonzie had met her at the train station, when she’d walked right up to him at the train station and said “You must be Arthur. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She’d even sounded like she meant it, and Fonzie had looked for any sign of fear or surprise that her latest tenant was a hood. He hadn’t found any then and he didn’t find any now. Maybe she was just a good actor.

“Good morning, Arthur! I hope your first night here was a good one.”

Mrs. Cunningham wasn’t having any trouble with the garbage, but Fonzie wasn’t about to let a lady handle this on her own. His grandma had raised him better than that.

“Lemme get that for you, Mrs. C.”

“Arthur, you’re our guest. I wouldn’t ask you to do this.”

“Ayyyy, I’m the one asking you.”

Mrs. Cunningham pursed her lips and said “Well, all right,” and let Fonzie take the bag and drop it into the trash can.

As he put the lid back on, Mrs. Cunningham said “Since you’re awake now, you can come join us for breakfast.”

“That’s real nice of you, Mrs. C. And I would love to join you and your family, but -“ He raised his hands in apology. “I got places to be.”

Mrs. Cunningham didn’t point out that it was seven in the morning, or that he had avoided dinner with them last night, or ask if he had eaten at all since coming out to Reno.

She just asked “Were you planning on taking the bus into town?”

“I thought I’d hitchhike.”

Mrs. Cunningham didn’t really react, whether she knew it was a joke or she thought he was being serious. She just frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, my son might lend you his car if you asked.”

Fonzie remembered the freckle-faced redhead practically tripping over himself to thank Fonzie for something that hadn’t even been that big of a deal. Bright blue eyes that had been glued to Fonzie the whole time.

“Yeah. He might.”

Mrs. Cunningham opened the door. “He should be downstairs now.”

—

Richie wasn’t at the kitchen table. Joanie and Mr. Cunningham were, though, both looking at the bacon and eggs in the middle of the table with hungry expressions. Fonzie couldn’t really blame them, not when the sound and smell of pancakes on the griddle were filling the room. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and that had just been half of a cold pastrami on rye.

Mrs. Cunningham kissed her husband on the cheek, and Joanie greeted Fonzie with a “Hi.”  
Mrs. Cunningham turned her attention to the stove. Mr. Cunningham looked at Fonzie somewhat uncomfortably for a moment. That was nothing new, Fonzie was used to that.

He was used to it lasting longer, though. After a few seconds, Mr. Cunningham had stood up and was shaking Fonzie’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

“The last boarder was older than he was,” Joanie said. “None of us thought he was going to make it before his six weeks were up.”

Mr. Cunningham looked at her witheringly, and Joanie shot Fonzie a small smile. He cracked a smile back.

Mr. Cunningham changed the subject. “You’re from Milwaukee, right?”

Fonzie nodded.

Mr. Cunningham sat back down. “I grew up there. Nice place.“

Same city or no, Fonzie couldn’t imagine that he and Mr. Cunningham had anything in common. He sat down, taking an empty seat next to Joanie, who asked “Does everyone dress like that in Milwaukee?”

She was trying not to laugh, but not at Fonzie, probably at the idea of her old man dressing like him.

“Not unless they’re cool,” Fonzie replied. Joanie nodded, suppressing a grin as she glanced back at Mr. Cunningham.

Mr. Cunningham gamely ignored them as Mrs. Cunningham came over with the pancakes and began loading them onto everyone’s plates, Fonzie’s included. He didn’t say anything - when he was actually inside their house, there was no way to say “I don’t want your food” without looking like a jerk.

They were great pancakes - buttery but not too slick, a little fluffy but not inconsistent. Fonzie told Mrs. Cunningham so, and she beamed with so much pride that it hurt to look at her, like looking right at the sun.

Richie didn’t come down for another twenty minutes. When he did, his red hair was neatly combed and parted, his pants were pressed and hiked up above his waist, the cuffs rolled up so his socks were visible. He looked crisper and cleaner than last night, though the way his freckled face froze when he saw Fonzie was all too familiar.

Then he smiled at Fonzie like they were sharing a secret, as Mr. Cunningham said “Look who finally decided to join us.”

“I overslept. Sorry,” Richie said as he sat down next to his father, across from Fonzie, not taking his eyes off of him. “You’re the new tenant, right? It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He was taking the idea that last night hadn’t happened more seriously than Fonzie had expected. It was kind of adorable.

“Likewise,” Fonzie replied. “I need your wheels to go into town.”

Richie blinked, a little disappointed, but he quickly covered for himself. “Oh, sure. Yeah, you can borrow it. All I was going to do today was go meet the guys at Arnold’s later. But I can stay in.” He took a bite of his pancakes. “Do some studying.”

“I have to borrow the car tonight,” Joanie said. “Michael Bradshaw’s taking me to the movies at six and his car’s in the shop.”

“You could borrow the DeSoto,” Richie suggested. Joanie just glared at him.

“Don’t worry about it, shortcake,” Fonzie said. “I’ll be back before six.” There wasn’t really much he could do right now, anyway.

Joanie’s nose wrinkled at the nickname, but she smiled and said “Thanks.”

“Richard, why don’t you go with Arthur?” Mrs. Cunningham suggested after a sip of her coffee. “I’m sure he would love to have someone to show him around town.”

Richie’s eyes widened in shock. He didn’t say anything (and of course he wasn’t gonna talk as he chewed, he wasn’t that kind of guy) but he didn’t need to. There was so much hope written all over his face that Fonzie couldn’t bring himself to tell him to just give him his keys.

He just said “You up to playing tour guide, red?”

“Absolutely,” Richie said. “There’s a lot of neat stuff in town. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

He was so earnest about Reno and so certain Fonzie would like it. It wasn’t even an act, he’d been just as sincere last night.

They finished breakfast, and Richie kissed his mother on the cheek and followed Fonzie outside into the garage.


	2. Chapter 2

Richie’s car turned out to be a ‘53 Ford Sunliner. Not exactly what Fonzie expected from the nerd, even with the powder blue paint job.

“It was red when I first got it,” Richie said. “Painting it blue was my mom’s idea. It’s Dad’s favorite color, and he wasn’t too wild about the car when I first got it.”

Fonzie didn’t say anything. He just got in the car on the passenger’s side.

Richie looked up at the sky, face slightly pink with embarrassment. It reminded Fonzie of Maureen, of how gorgeous she was when she blushed. They’d kept the lights on on their wedding night, because Fonzie had wanted to see her, all of her.  
Maureen had been happy to let him. Maybe that should have been a sign.

Richie looked back down at Fonzie, his blue eyes bright against his blushing skin. “It’s going to be a bright one today. You have sunglasses?”

Fonzie had his shades on before Richie finished his sentence. Richie trailed off, biting at his bottom lip as he looked at Fonzie. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Fonzie raised an eyebrow - _go on_ \- but Richie just closed his mouth and got in the car. He got his sunglasses out from his glove compartment, and then they were off.

They drove past the Truckee River, past the Masonic Temple, past the downtown post office, and Richie talked the whole way.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t annoying. Richie talked about ice skating on the river in the winter with his sister, about his dad’s lodge’s brief (and apparently secret) rivalry with the Temple, about the time Richie‘s entire high school class visited the army recruitment office in the post office building and one guy, Ralph, tried to get out of it by hiding in the ladies’ room.

It made for pleasant background noise, at any rate, so Fonzie noticed when they drove past a street full of casinos and Richie fell silent.  
Fonzie couldn’t entirely blame him. In the daylight, the casinos just looked kind of sad. Maybe it was the neon lights trying and failing to stand out against the glow of the sun, or maybe it was the respectable middle-class types going inside with blank expressions right out of _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_.

Fonzie didn’t believe Richie didn’t have anything to say about them, though, not when he’d apparently lived his whole life here.

“Cat got your tongue, red?”

Richie‘s grip on the steering wheel tightened. His jaw set. He did not look at Fonzie.

“People have this idea that Reno is some kind of den of sin,” he said. “It’s really not. People here are as decent as they are anywhere else. They get tempted and they make mistakes. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not everyone,” Fonzie said.

Richie looked at him, lips parted in surprise, before his gaze returned to the road. “I suppose you don’t?”

“I’ve never locked myself out of my apartment.”

Richie laughed a little. A smile remained on his face even after he stopped. He was probably grateful to find out Fonzie remembered last night.

They reached the lawyer’s office about a minute later. Richie had to park down the street, next to an office building. As Fonzie got out, he said “I’ll wait here for you.”

“Ain’t you sweet.” Fonzie, to his surprise, only half meant it mockingly.

As he went inside the waiting room, the secretary, a middle-aged woman with tightly curled dark hair, looked at him approvingly over the frames of her cat’s eye glasses. She introduced herself as Miss Anderson and she didn’t have a wedding ring, so Fonzie passed the time by flirting with her, wheedling out information about her job and her boss and what it was like living in Reno. She was originally from Indiana, but she’d moved to Reno with her divorce-seeking mother at the age of twelve. On the weekends, she liked to go to the casinos, have a drink or two, and try to win back the money she spent. She invited Fonzie to come with her, see what Reno was really like (her words), right as the office door swung open and out stepped McCoy.

It was the first time Fonzie had seen him in person. They’d spoken on the phone once - one of Fonzie’s coworkers at the garage had been to Reno and referred Fonzie to him - and Fonzie had appreciated that he didn’t seem to care much about why Fonzie was getting a divorce.

In person, Fonzie couldn’t say he was all that impressed by the frog-faced little man in front of him, or by how McCoy immediately looked at him with naked contempt. Still, Fonzie followed the lawyer into his office - after kissing Miss Anderson goodbye, of course - and sat down in the seat in front of his desk. He handed McCoy the paperwork he had tucked in his jacket, then leaned back in his chair.

The lawyer settled into his seat and began looking everything over. Fonzie took the time to give McCoy’s office the once-over. No pictures of any family, or McCoy himself. His diploma was hung on the wall next to him, surrounded by paintings of horses in mid-gallop. There was also a pristine-looking white cowboy hat hung on the wall. If McCoy had ever ridden a horse, Fonzie would have sold his motorcycle and bought a station wagon instead.

After a few minutes, McCoy said “Everything is in order. I’ll have to find another lawyer to represent Mrs. Fonzarelli. I presume she won’t be coming?”  
Right now, Maureen was in Toledo, working. She’d been excited about it. The people offering her the job had been fans of her act from two years ago, and they’d wanted to give her a real horse and everything. Maureen should have been the one here. She was the one who’d been really unhappy being married, but the job was too big of an opportunity to pass up.

“You presume right.”

McCoy nodded. “Alright, then. You’ll need a witness to testify that you’ve been here every day for six weeks. I understand you’re boarding with a local family. That should do the trick.” He set down the paperwork and smiled at Fonzie. “All we need are grounds.”

“The courthouse is fine.”

McCoy laughed. “No, no, Mr. Fonzarelli. Grounds for divorce. Why are you divorcing your wife?”

“We ain’t happy together.”

“That’s not appropriate grounds,” McCoy said with another laugh. “If unhappiness was acceptable reason for divorce, I don’t think anyone would be married today.”

He paused, like he expected Fonzie to laugh as well. Fonzie didn’t. McCoy coughed and got on with it.

“You have options - adultery, willful desertion, habitual drunkenness, conviction of a felony, neglect, impotency - though that probably isn’t a problem for your wife...”

He chuckled. He trailed off, embarrassed, when Fonzie failed to laugh yet again. He picked the paperwork back up and began shuffling it, probably to look busy.

“Might I suggest mental cruelty?” he asked as he peered over the top of the paper at Fonzie. “It’s very broadly applicable. The most commonly used grounds.”

It hadn’t been cruelty. Maureen had loved Fonzie, enough to lie to him and be the woman he’d always thought he wanted to settle down with. They had even been happy for a while.

About a year into their marriage, Fonzie started coming home from work to find Maureen lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, or sitting at the table with her face in her hands like she was crying even though her face was completely dry, or pacing the apartment and not noticing Fonzie standing in the doorway until he said something to get her attention.

It had taken another month for Maureen to admit to Fonzie that she missed work and she hated being cooped up inside all day. Fonzie had been supportive - if Maureen wanted to go back to working at the library and it meant she wouldn’t be miserable anymore, he was fully behind her.

Maureen had just closed her eyes and admitted everything to Fonzie. That she had never worked at the library. That she had lied to him about that from the moment they had met. That her real job had been -

Fonzie glared at McCoy. “We just can’t live together anymore. Cruelty’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Would you rather accuse her of adultery?” McCoy flipped through the paperwork. “Or drunkenness?”

Fonzie had been angry after Maureen had told him the truth, for a moment. But it was hard to be angry when Maureen was so miserable. At any rate, she’d tried just as hard as Fonzie had when they stuck it out for as long as they could. Now all they had to do was end it.

“Mental cruelty covers it.”

McCoy smiled a little, like he was proud of himself. “Just a few questions to establish the charge.”

Fonzie raised his hand, signaling for McCoy to shut up. Thankfully, he did.

“She lied to me about her job before we got married.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press Fonzie for details. If he had, Fonzie probably would have punched his lights out. Enjoyed it, too.

“Now she wants to start workin’ again, and if she does that, she’s gonna be travelin’ all the time and I’m never gonna see her.”

She’s going to take her clothes off for hundreds of drunk men, night after night.

McCoy’s eyebrows raised. “Well, that covers everything. The hearing will be six weeks from today at the courthouse - that’ll be July sixth. I trust I’ll see you there?”

As he laughed, Fonzie felt very, very relieved that he wouldn’t have to see this guy again for six weeks.

—

Richie waited outside for Fonzie. He was lucky to have found a parking spot in the shade. He was lucky to have found a parking space at all, he supposed, otherwise he might have been stuck driving around until Fonzie was done.

Maybe Fonzie wouldn’t have minded. He seemed to tolerate Richie the way Richie sometimes tolerated Joanie back when she had been a real brat, or the way Chuck had tolerated Richie and Joanie before he’d left to play college basketball in another state.

But even if Fonzie wouldn’t mind, it didn’t seem right to Richie to abandon him in a city he’d just arrived in. Not that Richie didn’t think Fonzie could take care of himself - Fonzie obviously could - but that wouldn’t have made it any less of a rotten thing to do.

(And Fonzie wasn’t obligated to tolerate Richie the way siblings tolerated each other. Maybe he was just putting up with Richie because Richie was useful to him. Maybe it was something else. Maybe Richie needed to stop thinking about that.)

When Fonzie came back outside about a half-hour later, his face was impressively stoic and completely impossible to read.

“How’d it go?” Richie asked.

Fonzie waved his hand horizontally, which Richie interpreted as _so-so_. He got in the car without looking at Richie.

“Hey, you want to come down to Arnold’s with me?” Richie blurted out.

He didn’t wait for Fonzie’s answer before he started talking again - Fonzie at least had to hear what Arnold’s was like before he said no.

“The food’s pretty good, and there’s a jukebox and a pinball machine, and the guys would love to meet you. There are girls there, too. If you want to get back into the swing of things.”

Fonzie slowly turned his head to look Richie in the eye. “What makes you think I’m out of the swing of things?”

Richie shrugged. He kept himself from grinning with some effort. “You were married for a year. Nobody’d fault you for being out of practice.”

Fonzie looped an arm around Richie, pulling him close like he was going to share a secret. “Back in Milwaukee, I snap my fingers and the girls come running.”

It sounded ridiculous. Richie believed him.

“Reno girls might be made of sterner stuff than that.”

Fonzie laughed - a pretty good imitation of Richie’s laugh - as he pulled his arm away put his sunglasses back on.

“Just drive, Cunningham.”


	3. Chapter 3

Fonzie walked into Arnold’s slowly, purposefully, like he owned the place. No, Richie corrected himself, like he belonged there. It was a subtle but important distinction, he felt.

All Richie could do was follow Fonzie as he walked through the parking lot and into the building, attracting curious, impressed stares from carhops and customers alike.

A few of them even looked Richie’s way, and just knowing that left Richie feeling a little lightheaded, even though Richie knew it was just novelty. Fonzie was new and interesting and therefore special, and Richie was the guy who brought him here. Six weeks from now, when Fonzie was back in Milwaukee, Richie would go back to just being another face in the crowd.

Fonzie didn’t look all that impressed by Arnold’s, not that Richie could really tell when Fonzie was still wearing his sunglasses. He only took them off as they went inside. So did Richie.

Richie’s friends were already there, sitting in a booth as “Splish Splash” blared from the jukebox. Potsie was sipping on a milkshake, and Ralph was in the middle of blowing a perfectly spherical pink bubble.

Said bubble popped as soon as Ralph spotted Fonzie.

“Hey, guys,” Richie said as he sat down next to Fonzie.

“Hey, Rich,” Potsie said. “Who’s this?”

“And does he know Halloween’s not for six months?” Ralph quipped.

Fonzie looked at him - not even glared, just looked - and Ralph switched gears.

“Not that you don’t look good. You look great! Coolest guy in here. Coolest guy I’ve ever seen!”

Fonzie seemed to accept that. He sat down next to the nervous-looking Ralph without further comment.

“This is Fonzie, our new boarder,” Richie said. “Fonzie, this is Potsie and this is Ralph.”

Potsie waved a little at Fonzie. “Where are you from?”

“Milwaukee.” Fonzie wasn’t looking at Potsie, he was too busy surveying the room, probably looking for the girls Richie had promised him. There were a couple of girls there, though both of them were there with dates, and Fonzie didn’t seem like the kind of guy to pursue someone who wouldn’t be interested. (Admittedly, Richie had only known him for a day and a half and could have been wrong.)

Richie felt a little guilty, like he’d lied to get Fonzie to come here. Even though he hadn’t, there were usually more girls at Arnold’s than this. It was probably just a slow day today.

“I have an uncle who lives in Milwaukee,” Potsie said, either oblivious to Fonzie ignoring him or desperately trying to get his attention. “He can fit five walnuts into his mouth. Do you know him?”

Fonzie caught Richie’s eye, as if to silently ask if Potsie was being serious. Richie shrugged and resisted the urge to grin.

Fonzie went back to looking through Arnold’s. “No, I don’t know your uncle.”

His eyes settled in place. Richie followed Fonzie’s line of sight to a blonde, glasses-wearing woman sitting alone in a booth, reading a book.

“Nice talkin’ to you,” Fonzie said. He left the booth and walked up to the woman. With her focus entirely on her book, she didn’t notice him at all.

“What’s he doing?” Potsie asked.

“Fonzie says he can get girls just by snapping his fingers,” Richie explained. Ralph burst out laughing, only to stop as abruptly as he started when Fonzie snapped his fingers.

It seemed to reverberate through the building, through Richie’s bones, and Richie would have bet his car that everyone in the building heard it, even over the music. Only the woman reacted to it, though.

She looked up from her book, lips pursed in confusion. As soon as she laid eyes on Fonzie, though, surprise became delight.

Fonzie leaned in closer.

“Is he blowing in her ear?” Potsie asked.

“I think he’s whispering something,” Richie said.

“What’s he whispering?” Ralph asked.

“I can’t tell.”

Whatever Fonzie said (or did, if he had been blowing into her ear) worked, because the woman got out of her booth and wrapped her arms around Fonzie’s neck. His hands landed on her waist, and she kissed him.

They didn’t start necking in the middle of Arnold’s, even though Richie half-expected then to. Fonzie let go of the woman and sauntered over to the jukebox, which he hit once on its side.

The strains of the Platters filled the building. Fonzie turned around to face the woman as she followed him, and pulled her into an embrace.

As they held each other and swayed to the music, Ralph leaned across the table and said to Richie “You gotta find out what he said to her.”

—

When the song came to an end, Delores didn’t want to let go of Fonzie. If anything, her grip got tighter.

“Ayyyy, watch the leather.”

“Sorry.” Delores‘ arms moved down from Fonzie’s neck to rest on his chest. “I’m just going to miss you.”

“Who says I’m goin’ anywhere?” He stroked the small of her back with his thumb. “The Fonz keeps his promises.”

Back in the booth, Ralph and Potsie were openly staring at him. Richie was, too, but he stopped as soon as he saw Fonzie looking his way. He feigned interest in the menu.

He was embarrassed. And of course he was, Fonzie had just proved him wrong in front of his friends.

Fonzie was tempted to just leave now and let Richie stay here with his annoying friends and the realization that he had been wrong about Fonzie.

But he had brought Fonzie all the way out here. Fonzie could at least tell him he was leaving.

He kissed Delores again and told her “Wait here for me.” Her arms slid down to rest at her sides as she nodded eagerly.

As Fonzie walked back to the booth, Ralph and Potsie continued staring at him. Potsie just looked starstruck (as well he should have) and Ralph was studying him like he thought he could reverse engineer what Fonzie was capable of.

As Fonzie got closer, Richie set down the menu and stopped acting like he hadn’t been looking at Fonzie.

“Delores invited me back to her place.”

Potsie gasped, and Ralph whistled appreciatively. He stopped when Fonzie glared at him.

“That’s great,” Richie said. “Congratulations. But, uh, you do have to be back tonight. Because we have to testify that we saw you every day for six weeks.”

Delores was starting to get impatient. She probably would have waited however long she had to for Fonzie, but he wasn’t going to do that to her.

“Yeah, I’ll be back,” Fonzie said without looking at Richie.

“Will you be in time for dinner?”

Delores’ lips, full and pink, were pouting. Fonzie turned to Richie and said “I wouldn’t wait up if I were you.”

Richie nodded. Fonzie turned to go, only to turn back around at the sound of Richie chuckling.

“Something funny, Cunningham?”

“Not really,” Richie said. “Just that I guess I was wrong about Reno girls.”

“People here are the same as they are everywhere else,” Fonzie drawled.

He walked away and wrapped an arm around Delores’ waist, pulling her close as they left together. Fonzie wasn’t thinking at all about the way Richie had smiled at him, proud and shy and admiring all at once.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Fonzie was gone, Ralph and Potsie turned their attention to Richie so fast that their heads almost spun.

“I don’t know much more about him than you guys do,” Richie said first. “He only got here last night.”

“You have to know something,” Ralph insisted. “You’re living with the guy!”

“He’s living over our garage. That’s not really with us. And he’s going to be gone in six weeks anyway.”

“You don’t know anything about him?” Potsie prompted with a desperate edge.

“I don’t even know who he’s divorcing or why.”

“Maybe she cheated on him,” Potsie wondered out loud.

“Who’d be dumb enough to mess with his girl?” Ralph scoffed. “And what girl would want to mess around when she’s got him?”

“Maybe he cheated on her?” Potsie suggested.

“I don’t think he’d do that,” Richie said.

Ralph popped his gum. “You sound awfully confident for a guy who says he’s only known him for a day.”

“Yeah,” Potsie echoed.

“I just mean that if he’s the one here, he’s the one filing for divorce. He couldn’t do that if he was the one who cheated on her, right?”

“Can’t you ask him?” Potsie said.

“It’s not really any of my business.”

“He’s living in your house! Doesn’t that make it your business?”

“Some journalist you are,” Ralph muttered.

Richie sighed. “Look, I want to know just as badly as you guys do, but I don’t want to make things weird when he’s living with us for six weeks.”

Ralph accepted that with a nod. Potsie’s face lit up and he declared “Six weeks with this guy. Rich, you’ve got it made in the shade! Think of everything you can learn from him!”

“You think what he did can be taught?” Richie asked.

“For your sake, I hope it is,” Ralph said. “You don’t have the Malph dimples.”

Wendy, one of the waitresses, walked past them on her way to the kitchen. Ralph smiled at her. She didn’t look at him at all.

—

Marion was putting a pot roast in the oven when Richie got home a few hours later.

“Fonzie’s not here,” Richie said as soon as his mother stood up and looked at him. “He - met someone at Arnold’s. She’s showing him around town,” Richie added. He didn’t want his mother to get the wrong idea about Fonzie. Even if it was technically the right idea.

“He said he’d be back tonight, but he might not be back for dinner.”

“I thought you were showing him around,” Marion said as she set the timer.

“I was,” Richie said, trying not to sound defensive. “He just wanted to get a - a different perspective.”

Marion had that look on her face that she got when she knew Richie was lying, but wasn’t going to press him.

“Joanie’s getting ready for her date. Would you mind setting the table after you let her know the car’s free?”

“Not at all,” Richie said.

“And just in case Fonzie does come back, set an extra place for him.”

—

Richie successfully put Fonzie out of his mind (really, he did) for the next hour or so, until Michael dropped Joanie and the car back off at the house and Howard came home from the hardware store.

Joanie, naturally, was the one to ask “Where’s Fonzie?”

She was looking at Richie, waiting for his explanation about how he lost their boarder in town, somehow. Richie hesitated before he answered, allowing Marion to say “Richard said he met a friend at Arnold’s and he might not be back.”

It was embarrassing to be rescued by his mother. Richie was nineteen. He was a man, more or less.

Still, Joanie wasn’t going to push Marion for more information the way she might have with Richie, depending on if she was genuinely curious or if she just wanted to watch Richie squirm. Richie was glad for that, at least.

As soon as everyone was around the table, the doorbell rang.

It could have been anyone. A door-to-door salesman or a neighbor looking for a favor or something. Richie knew that.

Howard grimaced in annoyance. “Richard, would you mind answering that?”

“I can get it,” Joanie offered.

“I asked Richard to do it.”

Richie caught Joanie’s eye and shrugged. _Just doing what Dad wants me to do, not like I have any choice in the matter or want to at all. Nope._

He got up and walked up to the door at a perfectly normal speed, neither too fast or too slow.

Sure enough, there was Fonzie on the doorstep, standing with his leather-clad shoulders back and his hands by his denim-covered hips. He looked - not out of place, exactly. Just a little incongruous. In a good way, though.

Fonzie cocked an eyebrow. Richie realized he was staring.

“You’re back for dinner,” he said. He’d meant it as a question. It came out sounding like a slightly disbelieving statement.

“I said I might be,” Fonzie said.

“Things didn’t go well with Delores?”

“Things went great with Delores,” Fonzie replied, sounding only mildly annoyed. “We just decided to cut things short so I wouldn’t miss dinner on my first night here.”

“That’s - very sweet of you,” Richie said and immediately regretted doing, because that was probably the last thing a guy like Fonzie probably liked being called.

To his surprise, Fonzie shrugged and said “I’m a sweet guy.”

“Richard?” Marion asked from inside. “Who is it?”

“Fonzie’s here,” Richie said as he stepped aside to let Fonzie in. Richie stayed where he was and watched as Fonzie slid into the empty seat between Howard and Joanie. Then he shut the door, quietly, and walked over to rejoin his family.

—

“How was town, Arthur?” Mrs. Cunningham asked as Fonzie sat down.

“Fabamundo,” Fonzie said as Richie returned to the table and sat between Joanie and his mother, not giving Fonzie a second glance.

“Is that good?” Mr. Cunningham asked, more to Mrs. Cunningham than to Fonzie.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Fonzie said. “Richie showed me around, introduced me to his friends.”

Joanie finished chewing and asked “Like the one who made you late tonight?”

“Delores was having trouble with her car and wanted someone to look under her hood.”

Richie almost choked on his milk.

“I’m a mechanic, Cunningham, don’t look so surprised. You’re lookin’ at the man who souped up Rocky Barufi’s hot rod two hours before a drag race with James Dooley.”

“Did he win?” Richie asked.

Fonzie shook his head in disbelief. “Did he win. Of course he won.”

Richie, smiling, took a bite of his pot roast as Mr. Cunningham said “I’m...sure Delores appreciated that.”

“Yeah. That’s why she wanted to show me around. To show her appreciation.”

“I think it’s wonderful you’re adjusting so well,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “Seeing the sights, making new friends...”

“The next six weeks will be over before you know it,” Mr. Cunningham finished.

“Maybe you could help out with the DeSoto if Dad has car trouble,” Richie suggested.

“If I need to drag race on short notice, I’ll be sure to ask for Fonzie’s help,” Mr. Cunningham deadpanned.

“It’s too bad you weren’t here when Richie’s car radio played every time he honked the horn,” Joanie said.

“I took care of it,” Richie protested.

“He wouldn’t take it to a mechanic for almost a month until he ruined his date with Gloria -“

“It wasn’t ruined,” Richie muttered to Fonzie.

Right as an awkward silence was about to start, Fonzie said “Mrs. C, this meal you’ve made is terrific.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Mrs. Cunningham said with a smile. “It’s Howard’s favorite.”

—

After dinner, Joanie excused herself to go do homework. Fonzie stuck around long enough to help Mrs. Cunningham and Richie with the dishes, before he went back to the apartment over the garage.

Fonzie could usually sleep anywhere. It was a skill he’d picked up pretty early, because he’d had to. Apparently this place was an exception.

It took him a while to get comfortable, like it had last night. He eventually gave up and spent a few hours going through the back issues of _Popular Mechanics_ he’d brought with him, occasionally taking note of mistakes.

He hung up the James Dean poster he’d brought with him. It made the place feel less like someone else’s room. He passed some of the time by going through the second volume of his little black book and reminiscing.

He thought about calling up Delores, seeing what she was up to, but that would give her the wrong idea. Fonzie wasn’t looking for anything permanent, or even lasting for longer than a day. They’d had a great time earlier, and that was enough for Fonzie.


	5. Chapter 5

If Fonzie hadn’t just woken up, the knocking at his door probably would have done it.

As he pulled his robe on over his t-shirt and briefs and tied it closed, the knocks continued, steady and rhythmic. They stopped right as Fonzie opened the door. There, not that surprisingly, stood Richie, wearing a suit and tie and his fist raised to continue knocking. His hand fell to his side and slipped into his pocket.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Fonzie shook his head. Richie’s eyes flicked up to Fonzie’s hair, and momentarily widened in surprise.

“Did you comb your hair before you answered the door?”

“No.”

Richie’s lips parted in surprise, but he nodded. When he didn’t say anything else, Fonzie asked “What do you want?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“It is.”

“What I mean is - we’re going to church in a couple of hours and we thought - well, my mom thought - one of us should ask if you wanted to come with us. It’s a - we’re Presbyterian, but even if you aren’t and you want to come Reverend Harlan probably won’t mind.”

“I’m Catholic.”

“And you’re getting a divorce?” Richie winced. “Sorry. That was - that’s none of my business.”

“It’s not,” Fonzie said.

“There are some Catholic churches in town, we could drop you off at one -“

“Cunningham.”

Richie shut his mouth.

“Did you volunteer to tell me, or did your parents ask you to?”

It didn’t get the reaction from Richie that Fonzie expected. There was no stammering or blushing or anything like that. Richie just said “Does it matter?”

Fonzie leaned against the doorframe. “Not that I wouldn’t love to go with all of you, but I have a date.”

“Wow,” Richie said. “Look at you. Just got into town and you’re already Mr. Popular.” He lifted his free hand like he wanted to do something, let it hang there for a while like he was deciding out what to do, then gave up and shoved it into his other pocket. “Delores again?”

“Nope. Friend of hers.”

Richie opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “Does - does Delores know?”

“It was her idea.”

Richie’s eyes widened and his mouth shut. His face was steadily getting redder.

“Yeah, she thought I could really help Linda out.”

Richie nodded. “Well, you - you do that. Do you need to borrow the car?”

“Linda’s picking me up.”

“Okay. Well, you - you and Linda have fun. And Delores, if she’s there.”

“I’m sure it won’t be half as fun as church,” Fonzie said.

Richie laughed. “Do you want to join us for breakfast, at least?”

Fonzie let Richie wait a moment before he said “Yeah. I’ll be down when I’m ready.”

—

Fonzie was ready and down the stairs in thirty minutes. The Cunninghams were clustered around the dining table, with Mr. Cunningham reading a newspaper and Joanie downing a glass of orange juice. Richie was in the middle of cutting a waffle with quick, slightly clumsy movements. He slowed to a stop as he noticed Fonzie coming in, and he smiled.

“Morning, Fonzie,” Joanie said as her mother came out of the kitchen with a full pot of coffee and a “Good morning, Arthur.”

“Morning, Cunninghams,” Fonzie said. Mr. Cunningham looked up from the paper long enough to acknowledge Fonzie before his wife handed off the coffee to him.

“Richard told us you were busy this morning and couldn’t come with us,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “Maybe next week.”

Richie shot Fonzie an apologetic look. Fonzie just spooned scrambled eggs onto his plate and said “Yeah, maybe.” He didn’t really want to disappoint Mrs. Cunningham but he wasn’t going to set anything in stone, either.

“It might be nice,” Mrs. Cunningham continued. “Even if it isn’t the same as church back in Milwaukee.”

“Do you regularly go to church back in Milwaukee?” Mr. Cunningham asked as he finished filling his mug with coffee.

“Howard,” Mrs. Cunningham murmured. Another apologetic look from Richie.

“I’m just asking him a question,” Mr. Cunningham murmured back.

When Fonzie had still been living with his grandmother, they’d gone every Sunday. When Fonzie had struck out on his own, he’d kept going for a while. He’d started going less and less often around the time he’d joined up with the Falcons. Then when they all got sent to juvie after a particularly violent rumble with the Lords, he’d lost the habit of church completely. There’d been a priest there, meant to keep the boys from straying from God’s path, but if half of the rumors about him were true, Fonzie was better off staying far, far away from him and so were the other boys.

When he’d turned eighteen and aged out, he hadn’t bothered going to church again until he met Maureen and offered to escort her to church. Seeing each other on Sundays turned into seeing each other regularly, and that turned into Fonzie quietly dropping his other girls, and a month later they got married. They’d kept going to church regularly after that for a few months, before things started going downhill.

Fonzie had only started going again for Maureen. Maybe Maureen had only been going for Fonzie, too. He should’ve asked her at some point, if she’d lied about being Catholic on top of everything else.

Mr. Cunningham didn’t need to know all of that.

“Yeah.” Fonzie forked a waffle onto his plate as Mr. Cunningham’s eyebrows raised.

“And this would be a Catholic church?”

“Yeah.”

“Jenny Piccalo‘s dad is Catholic, and he’s divorced,” Joanie said. “He remarried a few years ago. They still go to church.”

“And nobody cares?” Fonzie asked before taking a bite of waffle.

“I didn’t say that.”

A car horn blared from outside - a ‘57 Chevy, based on the slight echo.

“That’s Linda,” Fonzie said as he stood up. “Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. C.”

“Bye, Fonzie,” Joanie said.

“Have a nice time, Arthur,” Mrs. Cunningham said.

“We’ll tell you all about it when we get back,” Richie said. His face immediately turned red. It was kind of cute.

—

If Richie‘s thoughts occasionally strayed to Fonzie during the church service, it was only because the sermon that day was about book 25 of Matthew, and why they were all called to help those who needed it however they needed it.

It wasn’t why Richie’s family had started taking in boarders. Business at the hardware store had been slow, and Marion had suggested renting out the apartment over the garage, the one that had been Chuck’s before he went off to college. People came to Reno every day, people who needed places to stay and citizens of Reno to verify that they had stayed in Reno long enough to qualify for residency and, with that, divorces. The ones who couldn’t stay at ranches or the more upscale hotels could easily afford room and board with a middle-class family.

Richie had been fourteen and hadn’t really had much to do with the decision. He’d been more focused on impressing Arlene Nesmith, who was going with Eddie Bazinsky but according to Potsie was going to break up with him soon. Potsie had been wrong, and Arlene had moved to Sparks because of her father’s job transfer. Richie had secretly been relieved about that, because if he and Arlene had started going steady he wasn’t sure he would have known what to do.

Richie typically hadn’t paid much attention to the boarders. Nearly all of them ignored Richie and Joanie and even their parents most of the time, only spending enough time with them that everyone could be sure they hadn’t left the state. They had ranged from mopey to aloof to just plain disinterested.

Fonzie had only been here for two days and he’d already spent more time with Richie and his family than pretty much everyone who came before him.  
Maybe Richie was blowing this out of proportion. Fonzie had only been here for two days, and he had ultimately ditched them for girls twice so far. Maybe Richie was just looking for something that wasn’t there.

When the service ended and Richie and his family started filing out of the church along with everyone else, Richie spotted Potsie and Ralph at a nearby pew. Potsie was waving his arms wildly, and Ralph was gesturing for Richie to come over.

Neither Howard nor Marion noticed them. Joanie, who was poorly suppressing laughter, probably had.

“I’m going to go say hello to Potsie and Ralph,” Richie said.

Howard didn’t seem all that happy at the mention of Potsie or Ralph. He didn’t seem all that surprised either, oddly enough. Neither Potsie nor Ralph had really been regulars at church since they’d moved out of their respective parents’ houses a year ago. The same thing had happened with Chuck after he started college and moved out, like church had only been an obligation for him as long as he was living in the same house as everyone else.

Richie suspected the only reason they were here today was that it gave them an excuse to get out of the apartment, not that he was going to say so out loud. Ralph and Potsie‘s apartment was a small one in downtown Reno, where the air conditioning and water heater kept breaking and the walls and ceiling were thin enough to hear every sound the neighbors made. (Like the elderly tap-dancing twins upstairs.) Richie had tried living with them for a month, because he’d loved the idea of having a place that was his, not his parents’. A place where he could sit alone and write without worrying about anyone interrupting him.

Richie had quickly decided independence wasn’t all it was cracked up to be around the second week of nothing but burnt TV dinners. He moved back in with his parents and decided he’d give it another go when he had graduated and gotten a job and could afford someplace halfway decent.

“We’ll wait for you in the car,” Marion said.

Richie walked over to his friends, and as soon as he was close enough to whisper, said “What are you doing here?”

“Our faith is very important to us,” Ralph claimed.

“Yeah, and if Fonzie showed up with you and your folks, we figured we could say hi,” Potsie added. Ralph elbowed him.

“Well, he’s not here,” Richie said. “He had another date today.”

“Wow,” Potsie said. “Delores must’ve been really impressed.”

“She must’ve been,” Richie said. “The date was with one of her friends. It was Delores’ idea.”

“No kidding?” Ralph said.

“How did he do it?” Potsie asked.

“I don’t know. I guess Delores must have wanted to...share him. Or something.”

Ralph‘s eyes widened and he (quietly, thank God) repeated “Share him.” Potsie whistled.

Richie didn’t have time to say anything before Potsie had hooked an arm around him and pulled him closer, so he was standing between Potsie and Ralph.

“I have an idea,” Ralph said. “I borrow some of my uncle’s stag films and you bring Fonzie over.”

“This feels like the wrong conversation to be having in a church,” Richie said.

“Good point. We should go outside where God can’t see us.”

“What if he already has a date for Tuesday, or something?”

“Then find out when he’s free.”

“What if he just doesn’t want to come?”

“Why wouldn’t he want to come?” Potsie asked.

“He gets girls just by snapping his fingers.”

“Rich,” Ralph said. “Every so often, a man feels the need to engage in some male bonding.”

Maybe Ralph had a point. Girls came and went, but Richie had been friends with Potsie since they were kids, and Ralph since high school. And a lot of the time, Richie did prefer hanging out with Potsie and Ralph or the guys in the fraternity to going on dates with girls he had only just met.

(He was just awkward around strangers, was all. That was normal. He was normal.)

“I’ll ask Fonzie when he gets home,” Richie said.  
Ralph let go of Richie. “Attaboy, Rich!”

Potsie hung on just a moment longer, then slid off, leaving Richie slightly off-balance before he walked off to meet his family at the car, thinking of how to talk to Fonzie about this.


	6. Chapter 6

Fonzie didn’t get back to the house until after lunch. Richie was glad - it gave him time to change out of his Sunday best, and time to prepare what he wanted to say to Fonzie. “Ralph and Potsie want you to come watch Ralph’s uncle’s stag films with us in their apartment” didn’t make the whole thing sound very appealing.

While he was in his room, his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a car parking outside.

Richie pulled his blinds up and looked outside to see Fonzie getting out of a Chevy being driven by a pretty dark-haired woman. He walked around to the driver’s side and kissed her goodbye. Richie closed the blinds, and sat and waited until he could hear the sound of the car’s engine starting up again. Once it had faded with distance, he left his room and went to Fonzie’s apartment.

He waited a few minutes outside - letting Fonzie get settled was the polite thing to do, and anyway, he didn’t want Fonzie to think Richie had come up here right after Fonzie had come home.

Once Richie was sure five minutes had passed, he knocked on the door. When Fonzie answered it, one hand rested against the doorframe, and Richie noticed that he was wearing his wedding ring now. He hadn’t been wearing it yesterday, or the day he’d gotten here. Had he been wearing it when he was out with Linda? If not, why had he just put it on now?

“If you’ve got something to ask, ask it, Cunningham.”

Richie had been staring. Richie had been staring and Fonzie had noticed.

There was no time to panic, though, not when Fonzie was standing right there.

“Are you free Tuesday night?”

Fonzie didn’t say anything. He looked at Richie expectantly, which Richie realized meant Fonzie wanted him to keep talking, explain why Richie was here and why he cared if Fonzie was free on Tuesday.

“Ralph’s uncle has this terrific collection of stag films. Ralph and Potsie are borrowing some of them for Tuesday night, and we thought you’d like to come watch them with us.”

Fonzie looked at him blankly. Richie froze, half-expecting Fonzie to slam the door in his face or something.

Instead, Fonzie laughed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why would I want to watch when I got the real thing?”

“That’s what I said,” Richie muttered. “They thought you’d want to do some, you know, male bonding. Because you’d be bored with women or something.”

Fonzie didn’t look impressed. “The day the Fonz gets bored with women is the day I die. You got that?”

He poked Richie in the chest and Richie nodded, maybe a little too fast. “Yeah, I - I got that.” He shoved his hands into his pockets so Fonzie wouldn’t notice that Richie had no idea what to do with them. It was probably a waste, because Fonzie had probably already noticed. Richie felt oddly exposed around Fonzie, like there wasn’t anything Richie could really hide from him. It was kind of terrifying and kind of liberating.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Richie said. He turned around to leave.

“Cunningham.”

Richie turned back around at the sound of Fonzie’s voice.

“I appreciate the invitation. Wasn’t necessary, but -“ He shrugged. “I appreciate it.”

Richie smiled all the way back to his room.

—

On his way to class on Monday, Richie was practically ambushed by Potsie. It was a surprise to see him without Ralph, but a pleasant one. It was never just Richie and Potsie anymore, it was always Richie and Potsie and Ralph, or just Potsie and Ralph. Maybe it was Richie’s fault for moving out of the apartment, but even before that Richie had sometimes been left feeling like a third wheel.

Potsie asked “Is he coming?” and Richie realized he had to tell him no, Fonzie wasn’t coming, it was just going to be the three of them.

Maybe Potsie wouldn’t mind. Ralph was the one who had suggested it, Ralph was the one who was borrowing his uncle’s stag films and, presumably, the one who was going to borrow a film projector from someone.

Richie shrugged and said, as casually as he could, “No, he’s not. He said he has the real thing and he’s not interested in movies about it.”

He finished with a chuckle, hoping Potsie would find it funny, too.

Potsie visibly wilted, and Richie felt silent.

“This is great. First Ralph can’t get a projector, now this.”

“Come on, it’s probably not that bad -“

Ralph ran up to them, and Richie stopped before he could say anything else.

“Hey, guys. I couldn’t get a projector, so Rich, you’ll have to borrow your dad’s - hey, what’s got you two looking so glum?”

“Fonzie’s not coming,” Potsie said.

Ralph’s face fell and he groaned in frustration. “Way to let us down, Rich.”

He turned and walked off.

“I don’t think you need to bother with the projector,” Potsie said.

“I think I got that,” Richie mumbled as he watched Potsie follow Ralph away.

—

Richie did end up spending Tuesday night with Fonzie, just not in the way he expected.

Richie had spent the afternoon in town, talking to Bag Zombroski, an old friend from high school who had passed on college to work as a change operator in a casino. A slot machine had been stolen from Bag’s workplace, and Richie was lucky enough that Bag remembered him from high school and still liked him enough to tell Richie what he knew so Richie could write about it for his journalism course. (Richie had promised to keep his name out of it, which also might have helped.)

Richie had come home around four in the afternoon. There was a note on the door from Marion, letting him know that she was out shopping with Joanie, and they’d be back soon enough to make dinner. (Richie was relieved that he wouldn’t have to explain where he had been. Marion disliked gambling and disliked casinos, and she wouldn’t have been happy at all knowing her son had been anywhere near one even if it had just been to gather information.)

With Howard still at the store and Fonzie probably still on a date (today’s woman was a shapely redhead named Dahlia with a red Chrysler), that meant Richie had the house to himself.

Before he went upstairs to start writing the actual article, he stopped by the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. The phone rang before Richie could open the fridge, and he answered it, hoping it wasn’t a telemarketer.

“Hello?”

“Cunningham. I was hoping you’d pick up.”

Those words sent unexpected warmth through Richie, even though there had to be a catch. Fonzie was on a date and Richie knew that he wouldn’t call here just to talk to Richie unless he had to.

“Look, you know a good garage? One that doesn’t sell junk?”

“Yeah.”

“Stop by there and get a fuel pump. Then come over to the Golden West Motor Lodge. You know where that is?”

The name sounded familiar. “That’s on North Virginia Street, right?”

“Yeah. How fast can you be here?”

Richie quickly went over it in his head. “Twenty minutes, give or take?”

“Knew I could count on you,” Fonzie said, and then he hung up on Richie.

—

It took Richie less than twenty minutes to go down to get the fuel pump and drive down to the Golden West.

As Richie parked in front of the dive motel, a blonde walked up to him and said “You Richie? I’m Dahlia. You’re earlier than Fonzie said you’d be.”  
Richie followed her down to her room. She talked as they walked, cheerfully bouncing from subject to subject. “He’s using my tools - they belonged to my last boyfriend. He was a mechanic, too, but not half as good as Fonzie. People are just raving about him and I didn’t really believe them until I met the guy. We came out here because my roommate wouldn’t let us do this in my apartment.”

She opened the door, and she and Richie stepped into a small motel room that would have been nondescript if it wasn’t for the bedspread laid out on the floor, containing a half-disassembled car engine and a few tools.

Fonzie stood over it, cleaning his hands off with a rag and not wearing his jacket. He tucked the rag into his back pocket as he noticed Richie and Dahlia there.

Richie held out the fuel pump as Fonzie strolled over to him and took it before Richie could say anything.

He returned to the engine without saying anything. Richie was initially miffed - Fonzie could have said “thanks,” at least - but it was hard to stay annoyed as he watched Fonzie work.

It was almost hypnotic to watch as Fonzie put the engine back together, like it was a puzzle he’d done before. Richie wasn’t sure he could identify any of the parts of the engine off the top of his head, and he definitely couldn’t have put it together himself, but for the time that Richie watched as Fonzie put it all together, it made sense. He made it look so easy and absolutely impossible all at once.

—

Once Fonzie was finished reassembling the engine, it was time to put it back in Dahlia’s Chrysler. Richie helped him carry it out, like Fonzie knew he would. The way Richie was looking at him after Fonzie was done with the engine, he probably would have jumped off a cliff if Fonzie asked him to.

Replacing the engine in the car was a snap. Dahlia was behind the wheel within minutes. When she started the car, the engine purred like a satisfied cat, and Dahlia leapt back out with a squeal to embrace Fonzie.

“Let me thank you,” she whispered into his ear. “Really thank you.”

“Not right now,” Fonzie said. “After dinner. Come by around nine, sharp.”

Dahlia nodded. Her eyelids were drooping in disappointment, though once Fonzie had kissed her goodbye, she was grinning in complete contentment.

Fonzie looked over his shoulder at Richie, who was very pointedly looking at a small patch of sidewalk and not Fonzie or Dahlia.

Fonzie kissed Dahlia one last time before he told her “Keep the old fuel pump. To remember me by.”

He slipped out of her arms. “Time to go, Cunningham.”

Richie followed him back to the car, though not before telling Dahlia “It was nice meeting you.”

—

Richie was oddly quiet on the way back, like he was waiting for Fonzie to say something first. Or he just didn’t want to talk to Fonzie, which Fonzie didn’t believe for a second.

”Thanks for getting the fuel pump for me.”

“You’re welcome,” Richie said. After a second, he added “Dahlia really appreciated it, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did.”

Richie laughed. “Yeah, you’re really going to get under her hood tonight, aren’t you?”

“What are you implying?”

The look on Richie’s face was a combination of confusion and terror. “You and her - you and she - later, you’re going to - isn’t that what you were doing with Delores? And Linda?”

“I was fixin’ their cars.”

“That’s it? Just fixing their cars? Nothing else?”

Fonzie shrugged. “There was some necking.”

The car came to a stop at a red light. Richie looked over at Fonzie. “You really didn’t, with her? With any of them?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Cunningham. You think I ain’t got any self-control?”

“Of course not,” Richie said. “I just thought that - the way women hang off of you, and - you weren’t wearing your wedding ring when you first came here.”

“I take the ring off to work on cars.”

“That explains it,” Richie mumbled. More clearly, he said “I think it’s great that you’re seeing your marriage vows through. It’ll feel better in the long run.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re the last guy I’d go for about what feels better.” He thought of Ralph and Potsie. “One of the last guys.”

“I didn’t mean that way,” Richie said. “I meant that - you’ll have more self-respect if you can wait out the next five weeks. Because you won’t be married then.”

“You ever been married?”

“No.”

“You even have a girlfriend?”

“I might not be seeing anyone right now, but I’ve got experience,” Richie protested. His face was pink with embarrassment or anger or something in between. The light turned green. They drove on. “And not just with necking.”

Fonzie looked over at Richie approvingly. “You holding out on me, Cunningham?”

It kind of made sense that he had some experience. Richie wasn’t bad-looking, as far as guys went. Plenty of girls probably went for someone like Richie, clean-cut and dewy-eyed and so earnest it was a little scary and bizarrely endearing all at once.

Richie didn’t answer. Fonzie prompted him with “Gloria show you the ropes?”

“No.” Richie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “It was before Gloria.”

“Yeah? Was this mystery girl your first steady or something?”

“No.”

“Didn’t take you for the type to love ‘em and leave ‘em.”

“I’m not.”

The light turned green. As they drove off, Richie continued talking.

“Look, it was - it just sort of happened, and we never talked about it again.”

“Don’t tell me she was embarrassed to be seen with you.”

“I don’t think it was that.”

“You were embarrassed to be seen with her?”

“It wasn’t with a her, it was with Potsie.”

Richie’s eyes briefly flickered away from the road and towards Fonzie, looking for his reaction.

Was he trying to bait Fonzie or something? Fonzie kept his cool, not betraying any surprise, and he was very surprised.

This had to be a joke or something. Richie was trying to be funny, or trying to see if he could pull one over on the out-of-towner. People didn’t go around telling strangers that they screwed around like they were queer or something, not unless they weren’t right in the head or something.

“You tryin’ to shock me?” Fonzie asked.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything.” Richie inhaled sharply. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. It probably doesn’t even count. It was just - guys. Friends. Fooling around. See, we had this double date with a couple of girls coming up, and he thought we should practice what we were going to do on the date, and...” He trailed off, face red. “One thing just led to another.”

“Lots of guys do it,” Richie added as they drove down the Cunninghams’ street. “Doesn’t make them queer. And it’s not like we made a habit of it or anything.”

They came to a stop in front of the house.  
Neither of them left the car at first. Richie looked like he had something he wanted to say, and it was just a matter of waiting until Richie worked up the nerve to say it.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” Richie finally asked.

“What’s there to tell?”

Richie’s shoulders relaxed, and he followed Fonzie out of the car and inside for dinner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter alludes to some brief sexual content between two seventeen-year olds. It is only here because it is plot relevant and would not be here otherwise, and is as non-explicit as I could make it while still getting the point across.

Richie met Potsie Weber in first grade, and they had become best friends in a matter of days. They both played baseball, and liked _Terry and the Pirates_, and Richie helped Potsie when he was having trouble in school. They had other friends, of course, but at the end of the day it was always Richie and Potsie, together.

If Richie had to pinpoint when things started to change, it was junior year, when Ralph Malph got a car. He was the first kid in their class to get one, and suddenly girls were falling all over themselves to go out with him.

Ralph Malph had moved to Reno during Richie and Potsie’s second year of high school. They weren’t really friends with him at the time - Ralph was too popular for that. He was new, and interesting, and his family was well-off. On top of all of that, now he had a car, and Potsie hadn’t been able to stop talking about it.

It had been Potsie’s idea to pool their money together and get a car of their own. Richie wasn’t sure they could get a decent car even if they bought one together, but he couldn’t let Potsie down by saying no. And they’d be using the car together. Nothing would change.

Richie had, unfortunately, been right about not being able to get a decent car. They spent more time pushing it from place to place than they did actually driving it because it kept breaking down, which, to Richie, defeated the purpose of even getting a car.

But it served its other purpose. Betty Wilkins and Trudy Bell saw Richie and Potsie in the car when it wasn’t broken, and they were impressed enough to agree to double date with them that evening. Potsie had been happy enough that Richie hadn’t minded when they had pushed the car back to his family’s garage to try and get it halfway functional in time.

They’d done about as well as they could when they finally stopped and just sat in the car together, trying to catch their breath.

Potsie turned to him and said “Rich, I think there’s a few things you should know about getting things started when we’re at the lake.”

“Aw, come on, Potsie,” Richie had said, because as much as Potsie liked to think he was the worldly one of the two of them, Richie knew for a fact that it was just that, an act.

“No, this is important! Pretend you’re Betty and I’m you. Here’s what you do. Tell her you think her door should be locked for her own safety. Then you real casually reach over and -“

Richie’s door clicked shut. Potsie’s arm was nestled behind him, and Potsie looked entirely too pleased with himself. “- lock it. See where my arm is now?”

Richie nodded.

“Then you just put your arm around, and -“

Potsie’s arm was around Richie’s shoulders, and his forehead was bumping against Richie’s.

“Potsie,” Richie said, even though he knew what he should have said was “stop,” because he hadn’t wanted to tell Potsie to stop at the time.

Richie could feel Potsie’s breath on his cheek as Potsie said “What happens, happens.”

“So what happens next?” Richie has asked, the thumping of his heart drowning out almost every other sound. “I kiss her?”

“Yeah, but remember, I’m you and you’re Betty.”

Potsie wasn’t objectively a better kisser than any of the girls Richie had kissed in the past, but there was a spark with Potsie that there hadn’t been with any of them. At any rate, Richie had enjoyed it enough to keep doing it, and Potsie enjoyed it enough to kiss back.

Richie wasn’t really sure when they transitioned from kissing to necking. He suspected it was around the moment Potsie started leaning against him, and Richie felt something warm and hard against his leg. There was a jolt of recognition, and a vague hazy sense that Richie had done that, and then a feeling that Richie should help him out with that. It had ended with Richie‘s hand down Potsie’s jeans because it felt like the polite thing to do while Richie could still rationalize it away as friends helping each other out.

They didn’t talk about it when it was over. Richie got rid of the evidence and they got ready for the double date. (Richie took a very long, very cold shower.)

The double date was a disaster, because they got to the sock hop right as it ended and the car rolled into Pyramid Lake while Betty and Trudy were still in it. Richie was secretly relieved when he and Potsie had to sell the car to a junkyard.

The whole catastrophe hadn’t been why Richie went to see a psychiatrist a few months later, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that was in the back of his mind the whole time. He hadn’t told Dr. Castle about that, he’d just said that he was afraid to talk to girls he didn’t know and he daydreamed a lot and he felt more thinking about Mickey Mantle than he did kissing girls.

He hadn’t said that last part out loud. He hadn’t told Dr. Castle about what happened with Potsie, either. Even if it was the entire reason why Richie had come to see him he still couldn’t admit it.

Dr. Castle had concluded he was a perfectly normal seventeen-year-old. Richie had been relieved, even though he knew that he hadn’t been entirely honest about everything.

(If he had been entirely honest, then Howard and Marion and Joanie (and Chuck, sooner or later) would all have found out and that wasn’t something Richie was ready to deal with. Howard had taken it as a personal betrayal when Richie had campaigned for Stevenson for president instead of Eisenhower. He had gotten over it eventually and accepted that Richie didn’t have to be a Republican like he was (and like his father was, and his father before him, and all the way back to the founding of the Republican Party), but Richie wasn’t sure this was something his father could ever accept.

And Marion? Would she take it well? Would she be horrified by what her son was? Would Joanie want anything to do with Richie after that? Would Chuck?)

But it was a relief. Whatever Richie was, it wasn’t obvious. Richie could keep on living his life and nobody would have to know.

Potsie had been able to shrug it off like it never happened.

Maybe Richie should have been relieved by that, because it meant Potsie wasn’t going to tell anyone. Most of the time he was relieved. Sometimes he wanted to grab Potsie and shake him and say that that afternoon in the car had happened, that it wasn’t just something he could ignore.

But that would make it something Richie couldn’t ignore, either. And it had to be something Richie could ignore, because otherwise -

Richie didn’t want to think about otherwise.

He probably had to, now. Because now Fonzie knew.

Richie shouldn’t have told him. He should have kept his mouth shut and let Fonzie think he was as naive as Fonzie thought he was.

Dinner that night was fine. Joanie took up most of the conversation. She was ending things with Mark Bradshaw because he wanted to go steady. Joanie was sixteen and not particularly interested in going steady just yet. Mark isn’t one to take no for an answer, though, and he’s been following her around school. Richie stopped feeling sorry for himself long enough to offer to take care of the creep. Joanie rolled her eyes and said she could handle him better than Richie could. She was probably right, not that it made Richie feel any better. His kid sister deserved better than that.

Fonzie suggested she write down everything she wanted to say to Mark, then tie it to a brick and throw it through his window.

Howard looked at Fonzie in shock, and Fonzie shrugged it off as a joke. Joanie had grinned at Fonzie when Howard and Marion weren’t looking, though, and Fonzie had grinned back like they were sharing a secret.

Richie wasn’t worried. Where would Joanie even get a brick?

Actually, Richie was worried, just not about Joanie. He went right to bed after dinner and spent all night staring at his bedroom ceiling going over everything in his mind. Did he believe Richie when Richie said he wasn’t a queer? (Half the time Richie didn’t believe himself.) If he didn’t, was he just being polite?

The best thing to do, Richie decided, was to give Fonzie space. He wouldn’t let himself be alone with Fonzie. Richie would give him time to - to reorient himself. To get used to Richie again, now that he knows this about him.

(Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would spend the next five weeks wanting nothing to do with Richie, and then he’ll be gone and Richie will never see him again.)


	8. Chapter 8

Fonzie came down for breakfast the next day. Mrs. C said “Good morning, Arthur,” Joanie said “Morning, Fonzie,” and Mr. C looked up from his newspaper long enough to nod at Fonzie.

Richie wasn’t there.

“You just missed Richard,” Mrs. C said as she brought out a plate of cinnamon rolls. “He said he was going to study at the college library. He brought a roll with him to eat on the way, so you don’t have to worry about him.”

Fonzie didn’t think too hard about the implication that he was worried about Richie. Yeah, he’d been weirdly quiet and the first one to leave the table last night, but Fonzie had just chalked it up to Richie being out of sorts after his little confession. There were more important and, frankly, more interesting things, like Dahlia coming over that night. Richie would get over it in a day or two.

—

After two days of Richie avoiding him, Fonzie was starting to get annoyed. With Richie, and with Reno and general. There just wasn’t a lot to do if you weren’t a gambling man. Fonzie had briefly considered going down to one of the casinos, but there wouldn’t be any point. He could win any slot machine, he could charm any blackjack dealer - there was no real challenge in it.

It wasn’t all bad. Mrs. C was the best cook Fonzie had ever stayed with (with all due respect to his grandma). And the women in Reno - whoa. If any of them were in Milwaukee, Fonzie wouldn’t have thought twice about adding them to his little black book. Like Sharon, the leggy blonde whose transmission needed fixing.

Fonzie had just kissed her goodbye when he heard a car starting in the garage - Richie’s Sunliner. He looked out the window, and sure enough, there was Richie pulling out of the driveway.

Sharon was on her way down the stairs when Fonzie stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, Sharon, you mind dropping me off somewhere?”

—

It was easy for Sharon to follow Richie from a safe distance as he drove into town, past the Truckee River, past the Masonic Temple, past the downtown post office, and right into the heart of casino territory. Richie parked on the end of the street. As he walked away, Fonzie got out of Sharon’s car.

“You want me to wait here for you?” Sharon asked.

“You can go wherever your little heart desires. Just be back in twenty minutes.”

Sharon said “Okay, Fonzie,” and drove off after Fonzie gave her a peck on the lips goodbye.

It was late at night, but as bright as it would have been during the day thanks to all the neon signs. It was easy to spot Richie within the crowd. He stuck out like a sore thumb surrounded by people going in and out of casinos, and it wasn’t just how clean cut he was. Everyone had a sort of dead-eyed heaviness to them. They were exhausted, and probably broke, and a lot of them were going from one casino right to another without giving anyone else so much as a second look. Richie was too alert as he walked down the street, blue eyes flitting from person to person. He was looking for someone.

He apparently found that someone, because he stopped for a moment, waved his hand in a wave, and then bolted as fast as he could - which wasn’t all that fast, since he was surrounded by people, and every time he bumped into someone he stopped to apologize. None of them really seemed to care.

He eventually stopped outside of a small, easily ignorable building, with a faded neon sign that called itself Nick’s Club. There was a guy waiting outside in a uniform with an apron. He was leaning against the wall, but he stood up straight when Richie got closer to him.

Richie stopped moving. He craned his head behind him and looked right at Fonzie.

Fonzie continued making his way towards Richie. Had Richie suspected he was being followed? Had it only just occurred to him?

Richie was silent for a while. Shock was written all over his face, followed by confusion, then anger. Politeness eventually won out.

“Bag, this is Arthur Fonzarelli. Fonzie. He’s staying in the apartment over my parents’ garage. Fonzie, this is Bag Zombrowski. He’s an old friend from high school who’s helping me out with a journalism project.”

“You didn’t say you were bringing anyone else,” Bag grumbled.

Richie winced.

“He didn’t bring me here, I followed him,” Fonzie said. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting himself into trouble. Now that I know he’s not, you can just pretend I’m not even here.”

Bag’s lip curled into a sneer. He was about to say something when Richie cut him off.

“Just - what did you want to tell me?”

“We found the slot machine.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “Really? Where?”

“It was in the basement.”

“What was it doing in the basement?”

“It was making sure we had enough vermouth. It’s a machine, whaddaya think it was doing?”

Richie’s mouth flattened in annoyance. “What I mean is, why would someone take a slot machine and hide it in the basement? Wouldn’t they just want to get it out of the casino so they could take the money out of it, or something?”

Bag shrugged. “I guess so.”

“But you don’t know,” Richie said, sounding resigned.

“Yeah.”

“And I guess you still don’t know who took it in the first place?”

“No.”

”What about the guy you said was getting fired?”

“He’s just the guy who was on duty when it got stolen. Easy to blame.”

He checked his wrist. “Break’s almost over.”

Richie sighed. “Thanks anyway, Bag.”

“Yeah, well, just remember you didn’t hear it from me.”

Richie glanced down at the ground as Bag went back inside. His gaze slowly drifted over towards Fonzie. His blue eyes were brighter than they had any right to be surrounded by this much neon.

After a moment, he said “I appreciate you coming out here when you thought I was in trouble. It wasn’t necessary, but - I appreciate it.”

“Your folks know you’re out here?” Fonzie asked.  
“No,” Richie said. “They really wouldn’t want me coming out here even if I’m not actually gambling. Which I’m not, so...” He shrugged. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s just talking to a source. That’s all.”

“A slot machine got stolen and just showed back up? That’s what you’re reporting on?”

“It’s news,” Richie said, a little defensively. Fonzie raised an eyebrow. Richie’s shoulders slumped. “Look, not a lot happens here. And even when it does, not a lot of people are willing to give interviews to college kids. It’s not like this was ever going to - to blow the lid off some secret cabal of slot machine thieves, or something. Life’s not always that interesting.” He scratched the back of his head. “You probably don’t care about any of this -“

“I followed you out here, didn’t I?”

Richie froze. After a moment, his hand fell back at his side. He smiled like he had just figured something out.

“Yeah. You did.”

Before Fonzie could figure out what that meant, Richie asked “Do you want me to drive you back? Or - did someone drive you out here? That girl you were with today?”

“Yeah. Sharon. She’ll be back soon.”

“Sharon,” Richie repeated. “Yeah. You want me to wait here with you until she gets back?”

Fonzie snapped his fingers, and Sharon’s Bel-Air slowly stopped in front of Nick’s Club.

Richie’s face fell. “Okay, well, I’ll see you back at -“

“Wait here,” Fonzie said. He could feel Richie staring at him as he walked up to Sharon and told her “Change of plans. He’s driving me back.”

Sharon sighed. “Okay, then. Call me tomorrow?”

“Of course I will,” Fonzie said. After one last kiss goodbye, Sharon drove off.

Richie was suppressing a smile as Fonzie walked back to him.

“She’s got somewhere else to be, and you’re driving back anyway.”

Richie had stopped bothering to suppress it, and now he was grinning ear to ear. “Sure, Fonz.”


	9. Chapter 9

Richie was there at the breakfast table the next morning when Fonzie came downstairs. He looked up from his textbook as Fonzie came in through the kitchen and smiled at him as he slid it into his bag. So he’d finally gotten it through his head that Fonzie didn’t really care about some fooling around he did two years ago. Good.

Mr. C was sitting at the table with him and dusting off a leopard print fez. Mrs. C brought out a plate of baked ham sandwiches. Joanie walked over from the door, carrying the mail and holding up one envelope. “This one’s for you, Fonzie.”

Fonzie knew who it was from without even looking at it. He’d shared his phone number with a few of his old girlfriends in Milwaukee. He’d be out of state, so there wouldn’t be much he could do, but if they really missed him and just wanted to hear his voice, Fonzie would be there for them.

Only one woman had Fonzie’s address, though. Sure enough, when Fonzie took the letter from Joanie there was _Maureen Johnson_ up in the corner, in her familiar neat handwriting, with a return address in Toledo, Ohio.

Fonzie had loved Maureen’s handwriting. It was clean and precise and just shaky enough to not be perfect. It was the kind of handwriting that belonged to nice girls, who were librarians and secretaries and whatnot.

Fonzie tucked it into his jacket and didn’t mention it for the rest of the morning. None of the Cunninghams mentioned it, even if Richie kept shooting little glances at the spot where the letter was underneath all the leather. Howard talked about the sale on floor polish he was having because one of his employees, Buzz, had accidentally ordered double the amount he was supposed to. Joanie asked Richie if she could borrow his car tomorrow night for a double date with Jenny Piccalo, and Richie eventually said she could after telling her not to spill popcorn butter in the backseat again.

Once it was done, Fonzie went right back to his room. He had a date with a girl with a Thunderbird with a radiator leak for noon, but that was a couple of hours away. Fonzie had plenty of time to find out what Maureen had to say. Maybe she was miserable in Toledo, and didn’t like stripping anymore, and she wanted to come home to Milwaukee and find Fonzie waiting there for her. It would be a shame saying goodbye to the Cunninghams early, and Richie would be devastated but try to hide it and beg Fonzie to write to him or call him whenever he could. Maybe now and then Fonzie would remember to do that, if he wasn’t too busy with Maureen.

It was wishful thinking. Whatever Maureen had written to him, it wasn’t going to be that. Fonzie didn’t really want it to be that. Maureen deserved to be happy after everything, and stripping seemed to be what made her happy. Fonzie didn’t understand it at all, but that was why he and Maureen were splitting up.

—

_Fonzie,_

_I really did get my own horse for the act. When I first got to Toledo I was convinced that maybe they were lying to get me to come out here, but they were being completely honest. Maggie doesn’t look much like Silver, but she’s a sweet thing and I like working with her. They keep her in a stable not too far from the club, and they let me visit her during the day. She was skittish around me at first, but when you work with someone who ends up mostly naked at the end of the night, you have to warm up to them quick._

_The other girls are good here - real good. None of them are really big names, but they ought to be. Ursula’s got this trick where she can undo her bra without touching it. I keep asking her how she does it, and she just smiles and shakes her head and says that’s her little secret. Then there’s Bubbles, who uses this bubble machine so she can end up naked on stage but technically still covered up._

_I wasn’t sure how they’d react to me, being as out of the swing of things as I am, but pretty much all of them have been sweet as can be. I think they feel sorry for me - plenty of girls leave the business to get married, but not a lot of them come back when they get divorced._

_You’d like the girls here a lot. If you stop by Toledo on your way back to Milwaukee, I could introduce you to some of them. They’d probably like you a lot, too._

_I still got it, Fonz. My first night back I was shaking so hard my bones were rattling, but as soon as I was out there on stage actually doing it it was like I’d never left show business at all. By the time I took my mask off I felt like myself again for the first time in months._

_Write back to me soon. I want to hear everything about what you’re up to in Reno._

_All my love,_

_Maureen_

—

Fonzie didn’t put the letter down when he finished reading it.

There was a knock at the door. When Fonzie answered it, there was Richie, hands in his pockets.

“Hey, Fonz.”

“Cunningham. What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Richie said. “Well - my mom just asked me to check on you before I left.”

Fonzie held up his hands. “As you can see, I’m fine. So you can go tell Mrs. C. Wouldn’t want her to worry about me.”

Richie did not turn around and leave, not that Fonzie thought he would. He glanced over at the letter and asked “Is that from your wife?”

“Yeah.”

“What does it say?” He quickly added “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Fonzie shrugged. “She’s working in Toledo. She’s happy there. She likes the other girls and she likes her horse.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “Horse?”

Fonzie probably could have left it at that. He didn’t have to tell Richie anything else, especially not about Maureen. But he pulled Richie inside and closed the door behind him. Maybe it was because Richie had come all this way, or maybe it was because Fonzie had to tell someone, and he wasn’t going to tell Mr. C, or Mrs. C, or Joanie, or any of his dates.

Richie sat down on the couch, hands settling somewhat awkwardly on his knees.

“Maureen’s got this act,” Fonzie said. “She used to have one of those sticks with a horse head, but the place in Toledo said they’d get her a real horse, and they did. Anyway, she goes out on stage with a couple of toy pistols and candy bullets and a mask. The mask is the last thing she takes off.”

“Takes off...?”

Fonzie nodded. “She calls herself the Lone Stripper.”

Richie was an easy guy to read. His eyes got big and wide and his mouth got smaller and he stared at Fonzie like he expected him to suddenly say he was just joking.

Then Richie’s brain started working again, and he managed to say “Well. That must... have made things interesting.”

“I didn’t know she was a stripper when I married her.”

“Oh.” Richie‘s face got pinker. “That must have been a nice surprise on your wedding night.” He grinned at Fonzie. To his credit, he immediately stopped when Fonzie glared at him.

“She told me she worked at a library. Our whole marriage was based on a lie.”

“You wouldn’t have married her if you knew she was a stripper?”

“Of course not,” Fonzie said. “There are girls you marry, and girls you don’t. You don’t marry strippers.”

Richie opened his mouth. Fonzie cut him off before he could say anything.

“I understand why she did it.” Fonzie gestured to himself. Richie flattened his mouth, like he was stopping himself from laughing or saying something, but he nodded.

“And we were happy, for a while. But she wanted to go back to work.”

“And you didn’t want her to.”

“Ayyyy, she was miserable cooped up all day at home. I wasn’t gonna stop her.”

“But you are going to divorce her because of it.”

“I wanted to stick it out,” Fonzie said. “I don’t run out on people. Not when they’re counting on me. Maureen was the one who said we had to end it.”

“So why are you the one out here?”

“The job offer in Toledo. Real horse and everything. I wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.”

Richie just... looked at Fonzie. He was smiling a little, kind of sad and kind of amazed all at once. Fonzie was used to adoration. He was used to people looking at him like he was the greatest, because he was. This was something else entirely, something he wasn’t really used to.

“Cunningham.”

It didn’t quite snap Richie out of it, but he did glance away from Fonzie for a split second, and when he looked back up his face was back to normal.

“The guys and I are going to see a movie tonight at six. Not a stag movie. _Pork Chop Hill_. It’s about the Korean War. Gregory Peck’s supposed to be great in it. You probably already have a date, but - maybe you could bring her along. Potsie’s bringing Jennifer Jerome.”

Fonzie folded the letter back up and tucked it back into his jacket. Richie’s eyes darted down from Fonzie’s face to his hands, then back up to his face.

A movie did sound nice. If nothing else, it would be a change of pace necking there than necking in Fonzie’s apartment or necking in a motel room.

“I’ll think about it,” Fonzie said.

Richie thanked him and walked away. There was a a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before, like Fonzie had said “yes” and not “maybe.”

—

Richie excused himself early from dinner that night. As he stood up, Fonzie said “Mrs. C, may I be excused as well?”

“Of course,” Marion said. “Are you boys going somewhere together?”

“Richie and his pals are seein’ a movie, and Richie insisted I tag along.”

“How sweet,” Marion said. She didn’t specify whether she meant Richie for inviting Fonzie or Fonzie for going.

“Couldn’t get a date tonight?” Joanie asked.

“I’m going to forget you said that, Shortcake,” Fonzie said as he left with Richie.

Leaning against the wall was a bored-looking brunette chewing gum. She smiled delightedly when Fonzie walked up to her.

“Cunningham, this is Francine. Francine, Richie Cunningham. He’s taking us to the movies tonight.”

“Thanks,” Francine said in between snaps of her gum.

“You’re welcome,” Richie said.

Fonzie snapped his fingers. “And Francine, lose the gum. You got better things to do with your mouth.”

Francine dutifully spat it out onto the street before she got into the backseat with Fonzie.

—

Ralph was waiting by his car down the street from the movie theater when Richie, Fonzie, and Francine got there. Potsie and Jennifer were with him, holding hands.

As Richie, Fonzie, and Francine joined the three of them, Jennifer looked over Fonzie with wide, impressed eyes. Fonzie seemed not to notice, but the way he leaned his shoulders back just enough to give her a better view made Richie think he knew.

Potsie didn’t seem to notice, or if he did notice, he didn’t seem to care. He just greeted them with a cheery “Hey, Rich! Hey, Fonz.”

Richie wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

—

It was easy to get lost in the movie and just forget. Forget about Bag, and the article, and Ralph flirting with the ticket girl, and Potsie and Jennifer holding hands, and Fonzie necking with Francine in the back of the theater.

It all seemed so small and meaningless compared to this. Richie knew it was just a movie, but it was based on history. Even with the added frills, the bones of it were real. Soldiers, good men, who were following orders into certain death for something that didn’t even do anything to change the war.

It was over too soon.

Richie left the theater grinning. Ralph just looked bored. Fonzie and Francine were still in there, probably still necking. Jennifer looked mildly uncomfortable. So did Potsie, but he quickly covered it up with a smile.

“You know, the lake’s gorgeous this time of night.”

Jennifer shook her head with a faraway look. “I can’t. All I can think about’s my brother.”

Potsie looked at her blankly. “Your brother?”

“He was in Korea. If he’d been unluckier, he could’ve ended up like those other guys. I gotta write to him and tell him I love him and I’m glad he’s not dead!”

She walked off to the car at an impossibly brisk pace. Potsie had to jog behind her to keep up.  
Ralph elbowed Richie. “Thanks, Rich. You really know how to make a guy feel better about not having a date.”

Richie glared at him. “You’re real funny, Ralph.”

“Who’s joking? Those two have been at it for weeks. Finally there’s some trouble in paradise. Maybe Potsie will shut up about Jennifer’s eyes now.” He walked off humming “Some Enchanted Evening.”

Fonzie and Francine finally came out. Francine’s hair was half-falling out of its pins. Fonzie’s was as perfect as ever.

As Francine fixed her hair, Fonzie said “Richie would love to drop you off, since your place is on the way and all.”

“Ain’t he sweet,” Francine said without taking her eyes off of Fonzie.

“Yeah, ain’t he,” Fonzie said, glancing at Richie for just a split second.

—

Once they’d dropped Francine off and Fonzie had kissed her goodbye, Fonzie sat in the front seat, next to Richie. Richie tried not to read too much into that.

As Richie started the car, Fonzie said “Next time, let a guy know before he takes a girl to see a movie like that. Not that it was bad, but it wasn’t something I would’ve taken Francine to under other circumstances.”

“I told you it was a war movie,” Richie said.

“So was _From Here to Eternity_. Now that’s a movie you can take a girl to.”

“Maybe there’s more to a movie than whether you can take a girl to it or not.”

Fonzie looked mortally offended. Or Richie thought he did, from out of the corner of Richie’s eye. While he was driving, Richie wanted to keep his focus on the road.

“You think I don’t know that, Cunningham?”

They stopped at a red light, and Fonzie immediately grabbed a fistful of Richie’s shirt and pulled him over.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody.”

It took Richie a split second to recognize the words. It helped that Fonzie’s Brando impression was surprisingly good. Not perfect - it was still recognizably Fonzie - but it was also recognizably Brando, which was better than Richie probably could have ever done.

Richie grinned in spite of himself. “_On the Waterfront_?”

Fonzie let go of his shirt less than a second before the light turned green. “There’s hope for you yet, Cunningham.”

Richie was still smiling as he started driving again.

“I saw it six times in theaters,” Fonzie said quietly. “I was seventeen years old and it was like a mirror was bein’ held up to me.”

“You’re a contender,” Richie said without thinking.

“I know that,” Fonzie said without bothering to look at Richie. “But I wasn’t always as aware of that as I am now. It helped me figure some things out. Become the Fonz.” He lightly punched Richie in the shoulder. “What about you? What did you like so much about _Pork Chop Hill_?”

“Kind of the same thing you liked about _On the Waterfront_, I guess,” Richie said. “It helped me put some things in perspective.”

“Why? You thinking of enlisting?”

“I don’t think my parents will let me until after college,” Richie said.

“So, why?”

Fonzie was looking at him with genuine curiosity. It would have been impossible for Richie to not give him an honest answer.

“It’s easy to get caught up in - in everything. I like being reminded that there’s a bigger world out there. And it’s full of people who are doing their best even when it’s not enough, but they’re still doing it. You can’t always tell why people are doing things, but most people are doing what they think is right.”

Bag was probably still down at Nick’s. Maybe he was picking up extra shifts to pick up where his fired coworker had left off. He probably felt just as bad that his coworker had lost his job, but there wasn’t anything he could do if he wanted to keep his. And Bag needed that job, maybe more than Richie needed some big exciting story about slot machine thieves.

Potsie and Ralph had probably reached Jennifer’s dorm by now. Ralph would wait in the car while Potsie said goodbye to Jennifer. Maybe Jennifer felt better enough that she would let Potsie kiss her good night, and Potsie would get back in the car, grinning in the way he did when he was exhausted but satisfied. Ralph would make some dumb joke, and Potsie would pretend to be annoyed but he’d secretly be happy that Ralph cared enough to bother.

They stopped at another red light. Fonzie’s eyebrows were raised. Was he impressed? With Richie?

“Not bad, Cunningham. And here I thought it was just because you thought Gregory Peck was cute.”

Richie almost choked as he inhaled. Fonzie’s hand rested on his back, warm and present, and Richie’s breathing soon returned to normal.

It was kind of reassuring the more he thought about it. Fonzie was comfortable enough around Richie to joke about that sort of thing.

“Peck’s not your type?” Fonzie asked.

“I don’t have a type,” Richie said decisively. “But if I did - it wouldn’t be Peck.”

“Brando.”

Richie shook his head.

“Dean.”

Richie bit his lip and shrugged.

“It’s not Potsie, is it?”

“Potsie’s been my best friend since first grade,” Richie said after a moment of thought. “That’s not the sort of thing that can be a type. I think.”

They had reached home. Richie, desperate to keep talking but not wanting to talk any more about himself, asked “Do you have a type?”

Fonzie paused in consideration as Richie parked. “Women.”

Richie laughed. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, red,” Fonzie said. He was smiling, Richie noted.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Mr. C was late for dinner the next day. When he finally showed up, thirty minutes after everyone had sat down at the table, the mashed potatoes were already kind of stiff.

He joined them with a huff. “The engine kept stopping and starting all the way home. After I just got it fixed!”

Mrs. C winced in sympathy. “I suppose you’ll be stopping by the mechanic’s tomorrow?”

“After they messed it up the first time?” Mr. C said. “For all I know, they did it on purpose so I’d have to come back.”

“Maybe Fonzie could help,” Richie said as he tried to get potatoes off of the serving spoon and onto his plate. “I’ve seen him in action. He’s really good with his hands.”

Fonzie met Richie’s gaze. A small dollop of potato had landed on his nose. Richie smiled shyly at him before looking back at his father.

“Yeah, I’ll take a look,” Fonzie said. “Give you my expert opinion.”

“Fonzie, you’re our guest,” Mr. C said. “I’m not going to ask you for auto help.”

“You’ve got nothing to lose,” Richie said.

“Fonzie’s already offered,” Joanie added.

“It would save money,” Mrs. C suggested.

Mr. C ‘hrrm’ed. “Alright. You can take a look at it after dinner.”

“You won’t regret it, Mr. C.”

Mr. C glanced over at Richie, who was cleaning his nose with his napkin.

—

Fonzie had just popped the DeSoto’s hood open down in the garage when Richie stepped inside.

“Hi, Fonz.”

“Cunningham. Your dad send you down here to make sure I don’t steal his hubcaps?”

“He knows you wouldn’t do that. He can be cantankerous, but he likes you a lot. You’re much more interesting than all of our previous boarders.”

Fonzie accepted that with a nod. “So then what brings you down here?”

“I finished studying and I thought maybe you might want some help. Not that you need it, obviously. And I don’t know much about cars outside of what I learned in auto shop back in high school. My dad tried to show me a few things, but he’s not really an expert, either.”

“Cunningham.”

“I thought maybe you’d like some company or something.“

Fonzie didn’t say anything at first. Richie was half-leaning against the wall, trying to look casual but obviously ready to leave whenever Fonzie wanted him to. All Fonzie would have to do was tell Richie to get lost, and Richie would scurry back to his room and Fonzie would be alone.

Fonzie shrugged and said “I’m not gonna kick you out.”

Richie smiled, warm as the desert and so much more inviting.

Fonzie returned his focus to the car. If he hadn’t then he would have been tempted to just keep looking at Richie.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Fonzie worked on the engine to the oddly reassuring sound of Richie breathing, in, out, in, out, steady as anything.

“What did Mr. C show you, exactly?” Fonzie asked after a few minutes of working in almost-silence.

Richie’s breath hitched at the sudden question.

“Not much. Usually we just ended up calling a mechanic an hour later.” He chuckled. “It was still educational. Sometimes you have to admit that you don’t know something and let someone who does handle it. Otherwise you have to pay three hundred dollars for a new engine.”

“Your dad’s a good guy, ain’t he?”

“He came out here to a town he barely knew and started a business and a family. Now he’s a pillar of the community. Everyone in Reno knows Cunningham Hardware. It’s a lot to live up to, but - he’s always been there for me and Joanie and Chuck. The way fathers are supposed to be.”

Fonzie didn’t say anything. He heard Richie’s shoes scuffle against the ground, probably as he shifted how he was standing.

“What about your dad?” Richie asked in a low tone, full of dread.

“I couldn’t tell you that,” Fonzie casually replied. “He left when I was four.”

Richie’s breath hitched again, just barely audible in the garage. After a moment, he said, only slightly more loudly and trembling with anger “I’m sorry.”

Fonzie shrugged. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Still. I’m sorry he did that to you and your mom.”

“Don’t feel too bad for her. She left when I was six.”

“She just left you all alone?” Richie’s voice raised an octave. “When you were six?”

“That’s what I said.”

“How could she do that? Leave you all alone after your dad had already left?”

Fonzie kept his eyes below the hood. No way he was going to turn around and look at Richie, all righteous anger on Fonzie’s behalf because he’d never realized that not everyone got a happy middle-class family.

“I wasn’t all alone. I had my grandma.”

Richie didn’t say anything.

“She did her best. She made sure I finished grammar school. She helped me find work after I dropped out. She showed me what to do when I started bleedin’.

“...bleeding?”

Fonzie turned to look at Richie. He wasn’t leaning against the wall anymore. He was standing up straight, both hands in his pockets, looking right at Fonzie with worry all over his face.

Fonzie didn’t have to explain himself, was the thing. It wasn’t any of Richie’s business. Just like it wasn’t any of Fonzie’s business that Richie had screwed a guy two years ago.

Why had Richie told him? Fonzie had brushed it off as Richie wanting to impress him, but maybe there was something more to it than that.

Fonzie was an outsider, someone who didn’t know Richie at all before now. With everyone else there was the risk that knowing that about Richie would change how they had seen him for years. Fonzie had known Richie for less than a week. Knowing _that_ about Richie didn’t really change how Fonzie saw him. Even afterwards, Richie had avoided Fonzie until Fonzie had made it clear that he wasn’t going to just turn his back on him.

Richie wouldn’t tell anyone else about this. Fonzie was sure of that.

“You got a sister, Cunningham. You probably know how it works.”

Richie looked more baffled than anything, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth twisted into a not-quite-frown. “Uh. Vaguely. I don’t think that usually happens to guys, though.”

“You know Christine Jorgensen?”

“I’m - I’ve heard of her.”

“I’m like her, just in reverse.”

Richie’s eyes widened for a split second. “Oh.”

Fonzie watched Richie’s face for anger or disgust or something. All there was was surprise - not good or bad, just surprise.

“Did you have to go to Denmark?”

“Nothin’ like that. I get testosterone from a doctor back in Milwaukee. Stops the bleedin’.”

“Oh. That must be - helpful.”

Fonzie stepped forward and gripped Richie’s shirt collar. Richie bit his lip and glanced down at Fonzie’s grease-stained fingers for a second before he looked back up at Fonzie.

“This should go without sayin’, but don’t go spreadin’ this around.”

“I won’t, Fonz,” Richie said. He actually sounded like he meant it. “I mean, you know - you know something about me, and you haven’t told anyone, so this is the least I can do for you.” His face tinted pink. “And I’m not saying that you and I are anything alike, because we’re not, you’re obviously much cooler than me -“

“Obviously.”

“- but - still. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Fonzie let go and went back to the car.

“Did Maureen know?” Richie asked.

“Of course Maureen knew. She was my wife for two years.”

“And the - your other girlfriends? Do they know?”

“Most of ‘em do.”

“And they don’t have a problem with it?”

“Nope.”

“What about your grandma?”

“Obviously.”

Fonzie shut the hood. Richie watched silently as Fonzie got in the car and started it.

The engine came to life with a loud growl that transitioned into a steady purr.

Fonzie stuck his head out of the window and said to Richie “Go get your dad.”

Richie, grinning ear to ear, nodded and left.

—

Howard was reading a newspaper in the living room when Richie went inside and told him “Fonzie’s done, Dad.”

He set down the paper. “Took him long enough.”

Richie hadn’t been entirely honest about Howard’s feelings about Fonzie. He did seem to like Fonzie more than their usual boarders, but just barely.

“I was just with him, Dad. The DeSoto’s fine.”

“It’s the only car I’ve ever owned. Forgive me if I’m a bit protective of it.”

When they got down to the garage, Fonzie was standing outside the car with the door open. Howard, somewhat reluctantly, got inside and started it.

“Sounds great, doesn’t she?” Fonzie prompted.

“Better than she has in years,” Howard said. “I thought you were just going to take a look.”

Fonzie shrugged. “Just one of the fuel injector seals needin’ adjustment, Mr. C. It was such a little thing I thought I might as well take care of it. While we’re on the subject, you’re gonna need new spark plugs soon.”

From his spot by the garage door, Richie held his breath as he waited for Howard’s reaction.

Howard got out of the car. “Well, I appreciate it, Fonzie.” He reached for his wallet in his back pocket. Fonzie stopped him with an “ayyyyy.”

“Think of this as an early Christmas present, since I won’t be here for the holidays.”

Howard repocketed his wallet with a small smile. “In that case, Richard and I will leave you to get cleaned up for your next date.”

“Don’t bother,” Fonzie said with a grin. “Marla’s excited to see me when I’ve just gotten off of work.”

Howard nodded, looking as uneasy as Richie felt all of a sudden.

“You two have a good time.”

Richie had just enough time to turn and say “Night, Fonz” before Howard pulled him out of the garage.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some underage drinking.

Richie wasn’t planning to stick around for breakfast the first day of Fonzie’s third week in Reno. (Not that he was keeping steady track of how many days until Fonzie left. Not at all.)

Still, he almost forgot that as he came down the stairs when Fonzie indicated the seat next to him at the table. “Morning, red. Saved you a seat.”

Joanie was sitting with him. Howard was still upstairs, shaving. Marion must have gone outside, since neither she nor the trash bag were still there.

“Gee, thanks, Fonz,” Richie said. “But I’m not sticking around. Ralph and Potsie and I told some of the girls from our sister sorority that we’d help set up for a mixer tonight. They’ve been planning it for a month, so this feels like the least we can do.”

Fonzie looked mildly perturbed at that.

“You want to come?” Richie asked. He didn’t think Fonzie really wanted to, but Richie got the feeling he would like to be asked, if only to say no. Everyone liked to feel welcome.

Fonzie didn’t say no. He popped his last bite of sausage into his mouth and stood up.

“It’s not really your kind of place,” Richie warned.

“Dahlia never paid you back for the fuel pump,” Fonzie said. “Think of this as payback. And any place that’s got sorority girls is exactly my kind of place.” He glanced over at Joanie. “Don’t tell your folks I said that.”

Joanie mimed zipping her lips.

“Oh, so when he asks you not to tell Mom and Dad things, that’s when you decide to be quiet,” Richie said.

“Fonzie’s a guest,” Joanie said with a grin. “It’s the least I can do.”

—

When they got to the dorms and went inside, Potsie and Ralph were already there. So were Jennifer and two of her friends - Richie vaguely remembered their names as Kitty and Lynette.

Kitty was listening to Ralph’s Uncle Milty impression with mild interest. Lynette was unpacking a box of streamers and shooting quick glares at Potsie and Jennifer, who were making eyes at each other instead of actually doing anything.

She stopped as soon as she noticed Fonzie. “Richie, glad someone who actually wants to help is here. Who’s your friend?”

Fonzie took her by the hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She giggled.

“This is Fonzie,” Richie said. “He’s staying over my parents’ garage for a few weeks. He, uh, offered to help us with setting up.”

“I’m meeting a friend later, so I can’t stay long,” Fonzie told Lynette. The way he was looking at her and the way she was looking back made Richie think of snake charmers.

“It’ll be great to have an extra pair of hands for however long you can spare them,” Lynette said, glancing down at Fonzie’s callused palms and fingers around her own. Without looking away, she said “Richie, would you mind going down to the basement and getting the refreshments table?”

“Not at all,” Richie said. Potsie had Jennifer, and Ralph had Kitty, and Fonzie had Lynette and whatever girl he was seeing later. Richie needed to get away and clear his head.

To Richie’s surprise, Fonzie let go of Lynette’s hand and went with Richie.

“Table’s gotta be heavy,” Fonzie said by way of explanation.

Before they left, Fonzie cleared his throat in Ralph, Potsie, Jennifer, and Kitty’s direction. “Save something for the party.”

As Richie and Fonzie went downstairs, Ralph kept saying, “Right, Fonz. Sorry, Fonz. You know, I was about to say so myself -“

—

By the time a Pontiac pulled up outside with a leggy redhead in the driver’s seat, the place was ready for the party. The streamers were all up, the stage was set up for the band, and the refreshments table had been brought up and set up. Everyone had had an idea of where it was supposed to go, and Richie kept pushing it around the room whenever someone asked him to. Fonzie finally put a stop to it and said to just leave it next to the stage. Richie could have kissed him.

Fonzie glanced outside at the sound of a horn honking. “Sandra’s here. You gonna be alright, Cunningham?”

Richie, leaning against the wall so he didn’t collapse from exhaustion, nodded. “Yeah. You and Sandra have fun. Say hi to Mom and Dad and Joanie for me at dinner.”

Fonzie patted Richie on the shoulder and walked off. Lynette watched longingly as he left. Richie hoped that wasn’t what he looked like right now.

—

Fonzie was in the middle of being thanked by Sandra for changing her transmission fluid when he broke the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” Sandra’s eyes widened. “It’s not my breath, is it?”

“Your breath is as wonderful as the rest of you,” Fonzie assured her. “I was thinkin’ - you wanna go to a party?”

Sandra frowned. “Can we neck there?”

—

They arrived at the mixer fashionably late.

The dancers parted like the Red Sea as Fonzie and Sandra walked through. Fonzie spotted Potsie over by the food with Jennifer, the happy couple feeding each other bites of cookie. Ralph was dancing with a girl - not Kitty, who was with a guy big enough to break Ralph in half. Richie took a little more searching. He was over at a table by himself, with a half-empty cup and a tired expression.

“How about some punch?” he asked Sandra. She said “Sure,” and strutted off after kissing Fonzie on the cheek.

Richie brightened as soon as he saw Fonzie coming towards him.

“Hi, Fonz. Didn’t think you’d show up. ‘Cause of - Sandra? Sandra.”

Fonzie indicated her with a tip of his head.

“Oh. Glad she could make it. I’m surprised you brought a date. I thought that if you showed up - not that I was waiting for you to show up or something - you’d just swoop in and take every girl here. But y’know, sorority girls are a little square. I guess Sandra’s more your speed, huh?”

“You alright, Cunningham?”

Richie leaned forward so he could loudly whisper “The punch is spiked. You wanna cup?” He popped the p.

He was about to stand up when Fonzie said “I’ll pass.”

Richie grinned, like Fonzie had just said something obscene. “Didn’t take you for a teetotaler.”

Fonzie tipped his head at Sandra again. “I like to keep sharp.”

“I have a date, too.” Richie indicated Lynette, who was dancing with another guy. “She asked me after you left. You’re the one she really wanted, but I’m a pretty good consolation prize.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“She’d probably have a better time with you, anyway,” Richie slurred. It was like he hadn’t even heard what Fonzie said.

“Because I haven’t had ten cups of spiked punch?”

“It was only six,” Richie insisted. He glanced down at his half-full cup. “Six and a half.”

Fonzie took Richie’s cup away and handed it to a guy passing by, who looked confused but didn’t quibble.

“You’ve had enough.”

Richie slumped down.

“Come on. You helped set this up. You might as well to have a good time without doing something you’ll regret in the morning. The next song is startin’, so you might as well get up and go ask your date to dance.”

Richie bit his lip and looked at Fonzie. After a second too long, he obeyed.

Sandra took Richie’s place at the table, carrying two cups. Fonzie took them both from her and handed them to Ralph and his girl.

“They got a broom closet down the hall,” Sandra said.

“Not exactly the honeymoon suite, huh?”

“You’re the one who wanted to come here,” Sandra protested. “We coulda stayed at my place and necked.”

Richie was slow dancing with Lynette now. He noticed Fonzie watching and waved at Fonzie with a big dizzy smile. Fonzie waved back.

—

As the party died down and people started to leave, Sandra suggested that she and Fonzie blow this joint and head back to her place.

Fonzie would have said yes, if Richie wasn’t still there, still tipsy. He hadn’t drank any more, Fonzie had made sure of that, but he hadn’t bothered to stop Lynette when she had left a little while ago with a couple of other girls, or Potsie and Ralph when they left with their respective dates.

“I’m taking my friend home,” Fonzie told Sandra. “Same place and all that.”

As if to prove Fonzie’s statement, Richie tripped getting out of his chair and had to grab the tablecloth before he could hit the ground.

Sandra sighed. “Just my luck I go home with a guy and he turns out to be noble and junk.”

Fonzie left her with one last kiss, enough that she‘d leave with good memories of tonight, and walked over to Richie.

“Keys, Cunningham.”

Richie didn’t argue. He rifled through his pocket and slowly fished them out. He held them up for a moment, like he expected Fonzie to just take them, then settled for dropping them into Fonzie’s open hand. Fonzie took him by the arm and escorted him out.


	12. Chapter 12

Richie didn’t say anything as Fonzie started the car. He just kept staring at Fonzie, smiling slightly. Normally Fonzie would have told him to knock it off, but Richie was pretty juiced.

As they started towards the house, Richie said, “I just thought of something. Your name is Arthur.”  
Fonzie looked at him blankly. “You just thought of that?”

“Did you pick Arthur out yourself? Because considering - you know, it doesn’t seem like your parents picked it out.”

“No, they didn’t,” Fonzie said.

Richie worried at his lip. To his credit, he didn’t ask what Fonzie’s name had been before. Maybe that was why Fonzie didn’t just leave him hanging, even though he could have.

“Arturo Fonzarelli was my great-grandfather. He came to this country with nothin’ and he survived. I never met the guy, he died when my dad was a kid, but I connected with him. Grandma Nussbaum told me everything I needed to know about him. My mom told me once that if things were different, they would’ve named me Arthur. Less foreign-sounding, but still enough to honor the guy. I was four or five, but I never forgot that.”

Richie’s smile grew. “That’s nice. That’s - that’s real nice.”

Fonzie was a lot of things, but he wasn’t nice. If Richie wasn’t drunk, Fonzie probably would have told him so.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on that, because Richie changed the subject without any warning.

“Do you have a motorcycle?”

“Yeah.”

Richie nodded in agreement. He was smiling and his eyes were unfocused. “Yeah. The moment I saw you, I thought “that’s a guy who drives a motorcycle.”” He bit his lip thoughtfully before saying “I thought about getting a motorcycle myself, for a bit.”

The thoroughly ridiculous image of Richie, all dressed in leather, straddling a bike and trying to look cool flashed through Fonzie’s mind, and he laughed.

Richie glared at him, but there was no real vitriol in it, and he ended up half-chuckling along with Fonzie.

“What would you even do with a bike?” Fonzie asked.

Richie shrugged. “I dunno. I used to think it’d make me cool or tough or something, but...” He laughed. “That’s not how it works, is it? You, you were probably cool before you had the bike, right?”

It was nice that Richie thought so. He didn’t need to know that he was wrong, that Fonzie had been a real turkey before he got his bike. Not when he was blotto, at least.

“You didn’t answer my question, Cunningham. What would you do with a bike?”

Richie shrugged. “Leave, I guess. California, maybe?”

“So you’d just dump your folks, and Joanie, and your friends, and college -“

“I wouldn’t be dumping them,” Richie huffed. “I’d be coming back, you know. I just - I wanna see what’s out there. I have never been outside of Reno. Except for a choir trip to San Francisco back in high school. I’ll probably end up staying here for the rest of my life unless I join the army after I graduate or something. And even then, when I was done I’d just come back here. But you - you came out here not knowing anybody, having to stay for six weeks, because it was the right thing to do for Maureen. That - that’s cool. You’re cool.”

Fonzie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I know I’m cool, Cunningham.”

Richie shrugged and settled back into his seat. “Well, you still deserve to be told. Some cool guys - you can tell they’re trying to be cool, but you - you’d be cool no matter what.”

“You’re a real chatty drunk.”

Richie’s head lolled to the side as he smiled at Fonzie. “Hey, wanna take a detour?”

“A detour where?”

“You’ve been here two weeks and you haven’t seen the best place in Reno yet. You’ve _got_ to see it before it’s too late. You’ve just got to.”

There was something in Richie’s voice - desperate and insistent all at once - that made it obvious he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. To Fonzie’s surprise, he didn’t want to say no.

——

Richie directed Fonzie on where to drive, and Fonzie went along with it, half to humor Richie and half out of genuine curiosity.

When they stopped, Richie opened the car door and practically jumped out. After a moment (just to keep Richie waiting, no need to look too eager), Fonzie joined him.

“Lake Tahoe,” Richie said. “We come out here every summer - Mom and Dad and Joanie and me. Chuck, too, sometimes. It’s not usually this late, though.”

Fonzie didn’t say anything. This was the first place in Reno that wasn’t just desert or city, just blue as far as the eye could see, tinted silver by the full moon above and the twinkling stars.

Fonzie was, reluctantly, impressed. “Whoa.”

When he looked back at Richie, Richie wasn’t looking at the lake. He was looking at Fonzie. Like he was trying to commit this to memory. Commit Fonzie to memory.

He met Fonzie’s gaze as Fonzie turned around, but he didn’t stop the way he was looking at Fonzie.

“You ever bring girls up here?” Fonzie asked. “Or - Potsie?”

“Pyramid Lake’s better for that sort of thing,” Richie said without bothering to really answer. “Fewer people. You’re less likely to get spotted necking by families going swimming. One time I brought a girl up here - Ralph fixed me up with her - and I spent almost an hour working up the nerve to do anything, and then I heard Joanie shout “Hey! Richie’s here and he’s necking!” And I turned my head, and there was Joanie and my parents in the DeSoto.”

Chuckling, he tried to lean back onto the hood of the car, and almost slid right off.

Fonzie acted without thinking, moving forward and grabbing Richie by the arm before he could land face-first on the ground.

Richie got sort of a knowing smile on his face as Fonzie manhandled him. Fonzie pulled him into a standing position, and Richie went limp right as Fonzie maneuvered him up, letting himself lean against Fonzie.

Fonzie didn’t push him away, or try to get him to stand up straight - Richie was pretty plastered, after all. And then right as he was about to ask what exactly Richie was trying to do, Richie leaned over and kissed him.

It was clumsy, to say the least. Richie almost missed Fonzie’s mouth entirely, and ended up half-kissing his chin and most of his lower lip.

He didn’t stop so much as he kind of slid off of Fonzie. By now, Fonzie had already let go in surprise, and Richie leaned back against the hood, propping himself up on his elbows like he was trying to look - seductive, almost, and not quite pulling it off. At least he wasn’t falling off this time. Fonzie wasn’t sure if Richie had just gotten lucky right now or if he wasn’t as drunk as Fonzie thought he was.

Richie was looking at him expectantly - expecting what, Fonzie had no idea. It probably wasn’t for Fonzie to say “You - what the hell?”, based on how his eyes widened and his smile slowly faded, like what exactly he just did was only now sinking in.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -“

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have -“

“You’re still married, technically.”

“That’s the first thing you think of?”

Richie cast his eyes down as he got off the hood. He stood up straight and squeezed his eyes shut. He was swaying, slightly, and Fonzie very nearly grabbed him again to stop him from falling over.

“Come on,” Richie said. “Get it over with.”

“Get what over with?”

Richie slowly opened his eyes. “Aren’t you going to hit me?”

“No, I’m not gonna hit you. Just - warn a guy next time, alright?”

He realized a moment too late that that suggested there was going to be a next time. Which there probably wouldn’t be. Definitely wouldn’t be.

Richie’s shoulders relaxed a little. He stepped back, and Fonzie thought for a second he was going to turn and run away. He didn’t, instead he just stumbled backwards and grabbed the side view mirror of his car to steady himself, before he turned around and began throwing up. Fonzie put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

When Richie stopped, he stayed hunched over.

“Think you got it all out?” Fonzie asked.

Richie stood up, somewhat shakily, and slurred “I think so.”

“Yeah, you think so. Think you can make it back without getting sick again? Because you’re not puking in the car while I’m driving.” He patted Richie’s shoulder. “C’mon. Sit down before you smash your face in the ground.”

Richie turned around and let Fonzie pull him in front of the car. He helped Richie sit down before sliding down next to him.

“‘m sorry,” Richie said softly.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be sorry in the morning,” Fonzie replied.

Richie didn’t answer him. Fonzie looked over at him to see he was fast asleep and had already begun softly snoring.

He fell over, landing on Fonzie. Fonzie pushed him up, just enough to get comfortable, but let the warm weight of Richie’s head stay on his shoulder.

—

It was bright, wherever Richie was, and he shut his eyes tighter in an attempt to stop the light from leaking through and making the pounding in his head worse. He buried his face into leather, trying to block it out.

Wait.

Leather.

Richie’s eyes shot open as he lifted his head off of Fonzie’s shoulder. Fonzie looked at him and drawled “Feelin’ better?”

Had he slept at all? Or had he just woken up earlier than Richie?

“Yeah,” Richie lied. He scooted forward and stood up, blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep the sunlight out while maintaining some of his dignity. Not that he had much dignity left after last night.

But Fonzie was still here. He hadn’t broken Richie’s nose, or left Richie here, even though he had every right to.

Richie gripped the hood of his car to keep himself steady.

“Think you can make it back without messing up your seats?” Fonzie asked, still sitting on the ground and looking perfectly natural.

Richie nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say anything that wouldn’t humiliate himself further.

He didn’t quibble when Fonzie sat in the driver’s seat. Right now, Richie was in no condition to do much of anything, let alone drive.

The drive back home was silent. Richie guessed that was a good thing. Fonzie wasn’t telling Richie to go be queer at someone else, or trying to talk about last night at all. They could just pretend it never happened.

Of course, that wasn’t really an option when Richie’s entire immediate family were already all downstairs for breakfast.

Joanie spotted them first, and grinned at Richie mockingly. Richie was too tired to glare at her.

Howard looked up from his newspaper. “There you are! Marion, I told you he would be alright!”

Marion stood up and rushed across the room. She hugged Richie, then Fonzie.

“I’m so glad you’re alright - both of you! Usually Richard lets us know when he’s going to be out when he’s gone this late!”

Richie glanced back. Fonzie‘s eyes widened for a split second before he readopted his usual cool expression - or as close to that as he could when he was obviously suppressing a smile.

“Didn’t mean to worry you, Mrs. C. Richie talked me into a detour after the party.”

“What kind of detour lasts until seven in the morning?” Joanie asked, the very picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“None of your business,” Richie said. He was trying to sound tough. Instead he just sounded defensive, and he couldn’t even blame it all on the hangover.

“I think it might be your mother and I’s business,” Howard said.

Richie bit his lip and glanced back at Fonzie, who raised his eyebrows and tipped his head forward, so quick and subtle as to be almost imperceptible. Richie’s shoulders relaxed, losing a tension Richie hadn’t even realized had been there.

“We were at Lake Tahoe,” Richie admitted.

“What were you doing at Lake Tahoe?” Howard asked.

Richie hesitated before answering - he had to come up with a good explanation, one that sounded perfectly sensible and maybe glossed over the fact that he had been drunk - but he was interrupted by Marion.

“Come on, both of you, sit down and eat.”

Richie stepped forward and stumbled, only narrowly avoiding a fall thanks to Fonzie’s hand around his waist. He let go as soon as Richie was up straight again, and Richie missed the warmth that had only been there for a moment.

“Richard, are you feeling alright?” Marion asked.

“The punch was spiked,” Richie said. He made it to the table and into a seat without tripping again. “By the time I figured it out, I’d had six cups.”

“What were you two doing all night at Lake Tahoe?” Howard repeated, his voice raising in volume. Richie winced before glancing at Fonzie again as he joined Richie at the table. Fonzie nodded at him. _Go on._

Richie nodded back before he said “I made Fonzie drive up to the lake. I got sick and he didn’t think we should drive back if I was going to get sick while he was driving.”

Howard turned to look at Fonzie, who said evenly “I thought he’d appreciate comin’ back in a clean car.”

“Then I fell asleep,” Richie said. “I only woke up a little while ago. We came straight back here.”

“So you left the party, drove down to the lake, and just stayed there? All night? While you were drunk?” Howard asked.

Richie nodded.

“And you just...looked at the lake?”

“We talked,” Richie said.

“That’s it?”

Whenever someone asked Chuck a question like that, he would say the most obvious thing in the world that somehow managed to also be somewhat off-topic.

“Well,” Richie said, sounding as Chuck-like as he could,” “it was too late to go swimming.”

For a horrifying moment nobody said anything and Richie was sure someone would see right through him. He’d never been as good at lying or even just dancing around the truth as Joanie was. Howard had to still remember Richie’s disastrous date with Mary Ellen Lister a couple of years ago. If he thought something like that had happened last night, with Fonzie -

Howard sighed. “Richard, it’s not that your mother and I don’t trust you, but if you’re going to stay out all night you really should call us.”

“I know,” Richie said. He glanced down to avoid getting the worst of the glare from the lights. “And I’m sorry.”

“I was with him the whole time, Mr. C, Mrs. C,” Fonzie said. “The Fonz wasn’t going to let any harm come to him.”

Howard’s face was perfectly neutral as he turned his attention to Fonzie. Richie watched his face for something, anything, that would give away if Howard was going to start shouting at Fonzie to get out of his house. He briefly glanced over at Fonzie, who was being impressively calm about the whole thing. His shoulders were squared and his face was as stoic as ever. This probably wasn’t the first time he had had to stare down someone’s angry father, Richie noted with a sense of dread.

Howard stood up and said at a perfectly normal volume, “Fonzie, could I talk to you? Alone?”

“Dad -“ Richie started to say.

“I just want to ask him some questions about his rent,” Howard said without looking at Richie.

“Sure,” Fonzie said. “Anything you want to talk about, Mr. C.”

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Howard said, more at Richie than anyone else. Richie watched as he and Fonzie went upstairs, not looking away as Marion said “I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for you,” and went into the kitchen.

“It isn’t fair,” Joanie complained, loudly enough that Marion could hear her. “Richie stays out all night and comes home drunk and nothing happens. I come home ten minutes late and I get grounded for a week.”


	13. Chapter 13

Mr. C led Fonzie upstairs into his and Mrs. C’s room. He stayed standing after he closed the door behind them. Fonzie did too, not wanting to tick Mr. C off any more. He had to know Fonzie was taking this seriously, too.

“You know, you’re supposed to stay here every night,” Mr. C said. “One of us does have to testify that you stayed inside state lines for all six weeks.”

“I know,” Fonzie said. “If you think I’m lyin’ about just goin’ to the lake, I understand that. But Richie’s no liar.”

“I know my son,” Mr. C said. “And you’re right. He’s not a liar. He just might have gotten some of the details wrong, considering the six cups of spiked punch.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Richie said he made you drive up to the lake.” He crossed his arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who can be made to do things.”

“He wouldn’t tell me what it was until I got there,” Fonzie explained. “It sounded real important when he said it. I guess he didn’t think it was fair that I was in town for two weeks and I hadn’t seen the lake yet.”

“And once you got there, he got sick and fell asleep?”

“Exactamundo.”

“And then you drove back here?”

“Yeah.”

Mr. C paused before he said “Richie’s gotten very fond of you since you moved in.”

“I’m fond of him, too,” Fonzie said. “He’s a good guy.”

Mr. C was silent for a moment. Fonzie just waited. There wasn’t really anything else he could say.

Finally, Mr. C opened the door. “Come on. Marion’s going to want to make sure you eat before we leave.”

—

Richie took a few careful sips of coffee. He didn’t feel up to eating anything, and even drinking felt like a chore right now. It wasn’t just the hangover, it was knowing that right now Fonzie was in trouble and it was all Richie’s fault. If he hadn’t badgered Fonzie into driving down to the lake, if he hadn’t gotten drunk and then sick -

Richie forced down another slow drink of coffee and made a face.

Marion tutted sympathetically. “Richard, maybe you should stay home from church today.”

“Lucky,” Joanie grumbled under her breath. Marion frowned at her but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, maybe,” Richie said. If he stayed behind, maybe he could apologize to Fonzie, if Howard didn’t kick him out. (If Howard did kick him out, Fonzie probably wouldn’t want to hear from him. Richie figured he should try, at least.)

He ignored the quiet voice in the back of his head saying that this was just another wrong step, missing church to beg forgiveness he didn’t even deserve.

Fonzie came downstairs with Howard, and Richie had to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting out something embarrassing as he and Howard joined them for breakfast.

Fonzie was the first to leave, saying he had to check on something in his room. Richie avoided looking at him, not wanting to make this any more uncomfortable for Fonzie than it had to be already.

After Howard, Marion, and Joanie left for church, Richie went to his room and changed out of his clothes from last night. As he got dressed, he thought about what he was going to say to Fonzie. Because he had to say something to Fonzie, now that he wasn’t drunk anymore and he was only sort of hungover and they were alone in the house together.

He went up to Fonzie’s apartment, still not entirely sure what he should say but certain that he should say something. Fonzie answered the door, not wearing his leather jacket, and as he leaned against the doorframe all Richie could say was “I’m sorry.”

Fonzie’s eyebrows raised - not exactly in surprise, but they raised. He nodded at Richie to go on.

“I wasn’t in my right mind,” Richie continued. “Because if I had been, I wouldn’t have - done what I did. You’re obviously - women love you, and you love women, and I never meant to - to imply otherwise -“

“Ayyyy,” Fonzie said. Richie fell silent.

“We went over this last night. I’m not gonna hit you. All you did was show that you got taste.”

That was settled, then. Richie didn’t have time to calm down, though.

“That talk with my dad - he didn’t ask you to leave?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, red, but you ain’t getting rid of me that easy. You got me for three more weeks, remember?”

Richie smiled, freely and easily, the first time he had all day. Fonzie reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and Richie’s smile grew even as everything in him told him not to.

“He wanted to make sure nothin’ happened to you when you were drunk. And that we didn’t leave the state last night.”

“And you told him...?”

“I told him the truth. We were just at the lake, and you were fine the whole time.”

Richie swallowed. “You didn’t tell him about - you didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Ain’t for me to tell.”

“Thank you, Fonz,” Richie said quietly. “I am sorry about getting you in trouble, though.”

Fonzie’s hand fell from Richie’s shoulder. “You might as well come in if you’ve got nothin’ better to do. I could use the company.”


	14. Chapter 14

Richie followed Fonzie in, feeling oddly calm. Everything was going better than he had expected. Normally in Richie’s experience that meant something was going to go wrong very soon, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything would be fine, at least between him and Fonzie. Even still being sort of hungover wasn’t enough to get Richie down, even if Fonzie’s room was bright enough to make him keep blinking as he went inside.

Fonzie noticed, of course, because Fonzie noticed everything, and he flicked the light switch off and pulled his curtains closed. Once Richie had adjusted to the dimness, he saw a pad on the couch, with “Dear Maureen” written across the top in neater handwriting than Richie would have expected.

“I wasn’t interrupting, was I?”

“No,” Fonzie said.

“Writer’s block?”

“No,” Fonzie said, sounding not even slightly defensive. “Just taking it slowly. I want to do it right.”

“Maybe I could help,” Richie offered. “I do have some experience with writing.”

Fonzie cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

“It’s not like I would be writing it for you. When I have - trouble writing something, I like to make a list of everything I want to say. Getting it down is the first step.“

Wordlessly, Fonzie walked across the room. Then he tossed Richie the pad and pencil. Richie caught them easily - years of baseball had done wonders for his hand-eye coordination - and sat down on Fonzie’s couch, while Fonzie remained standing.

“Maureen wants to hear all about what I’ve been doing in Reno,” he said offhandedly, almost more to himself than to Richie. “I’ve been fixing cars.”

Richie wrote that down. “You probably don’t want to tell her about - Dahlia and Dolores and Linda and all of them, do you?”

“Be dishonest not to mention them, at least.”

Richie wrote down _girls_, carefully avoiding looking at Fonzie because he was sure he would start blushing if he did.

“What else do you want to tell her about?”

“You guys,” Fonzie said. “Mr. and Mrs. C, Shortcake, you. Don’t look so surprised, Cunningham. You think I’m not gonna mention the people I’m livin’ with?”

Richie looked back down at the pad, relieved his face didn’t feel any warmer. “Okay. What do you want to tell her about us?”

“You’re a real nice middle-class family. Mr. C goes to work every morning and comes home every evening just in time for dinner. Which makes sense, because Mrs. C is the best cook I’ve ever met.”

Richie stopped writing. “You want to say that to your wife?”

“Maureen’s not gonna take it personally.”

Richie nodded and wrote that down.

“There’s three kids. Chuck’s the oldest and off playing basketball in another state. Joanie’s the youngest. She’s got guts. Kind of a loudmouth, but she always knows just what to say.”

Richie wrote down _Chuck = basketball, another state_ and _Joanie = guts, knows what to say_.

He drummed the pen against the pad. “What are you going to tell her about me?”

Fonzie sat down next to Richie. “You keep draggin’ me places. Arnold’s, the movies, mixers, the lake...”

Richie’s first instinct was to apologize. He managed to suppress it, more or less, because he’d already apologized and embarrassed himself once today.

“But you’ve grown on me. Maureen’ll like hearing that I’ve made a friend.”

Richie smiled in spite of himself. “You’ve made plenty of friends here.”

Fonzie didn’t look wholly convinced. “Yeah? Well, you’re my favorite.”

It took a moment for what Fonzie said to sink in - for both of them, based on how Fonzie’s eyebrows twitch slightly before he slipped right back into his typical coolness. Richie just kept grinning, the mild giddiness he was feeling offsetting what was left of his hangover.

Fonzie lightly elbowed him. “Don’t go getting a swelled head, Cunningham.”

“Yours is plenty swelled for both of us,” Richie said mildly. Fonzie “ayyyy”ed at him, without any real malice.

—

_Dear Maureen,_

_I’ve been keeping busy in Reno. Fixing cars, mostly. Lots of people here need the Fonz’s touch._

_I’m staying with the Cunninghams. They’re this real nice middle-class family. Kind of square, but after three weeks with them I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather stay with._

_Mr. C‘s the head of the household. Real upstanding family man type, owns a hardware store. Mrs. C’s one of the finest cooks I’ve ever met. Maybe even the best. Joanie’s the younger kid. She’s in high school. She’s having some trouble with a boy in her class who won’t take no for an answer, but she’s got guts and I think that boy’s going to learn a real important lesson very soon. There’s another kid, Chuck, but he’s off playing basketball in another state and I’ve never seen him. He might not even be real._

_The middle kid is Richie. He’s in college, studying to be a reporter. He keeps dragging me places - drive-ins, movies, fraternity mixers, Lake Tahoe - he’s lucky he’s grown on me or I’d’ve told him to get lost a long time ago._

_I hope the guys in Toledo are treating you right. Let me know if they ain’t, and I’ll come down there and teach them a lesson._

_Fonzie_

—

When Richie was finished writing, Fonzie sat down next to Richie, and Richie tried not to read too much into how Fonzie’s knee bumped against his, or how Fonzie’s fingers brushed against his as Fonzie took the notepad from him.

Richie stared firmly at Fonzie as his eyes scanned the page, once, then twice. The most emotion he allowed himself was a slight twitch of the mouth, and Richie wasn’t sure if that meant Fonzie was happy with it or not.

He got an answer a minute later, when Fonzie looked up from the notepad at Richie and said “This is good. Real good, Cunningham.”

“Fabamundo?” Richie prompted with a grin.

“What did I say about getting a swelled head?”

“I can settle for good,” Richie said, still smiling.

Fonzie handed him back the notepad, and their fingers brushed together again. Richie reacted without thinking. With his free hand, he clasped Fonzie’s, gently enough that Fonzie could shrug him off if he wanted to.

Fonzie didn’t shrug him off. He kept looking at Richie, a little questioningly, like he wasn’t sure what Richie was going to do next. Honestly, Richie wasn’t sure either. Richie hoped it didn’t show on his face, even though he knew it probably did.  
“Cunningham,” Fonzie said. It sounded like a warning.

“I know,” Richie said. He set the notepad down on the couch and stood up. He shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing that would be enough to hide how much they were shaking.

“But if you change your mind - you know where to find me.”

With a small, nervous smile, he turned and left Fonzie’s apartment. He didn’t turn and look back, even though he wanted to, more than anything.


End file.
